


Psychopomp

by ParadiseAvenger



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:49:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 41,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadiseAvenger/pseuds/ParadiseAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a slave, Maka longed for death. She wanted nothing more than to escape the pain of living. Since his father's death, Soul feared it more than anything. Somehow, they would each have to learn to live in a world where nothing was accepted. SoMa. HIATUS!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fears of Life and Death

**NOTE:** Psychopomps are creatures, spirits, angels, or deities in many religions whose responsibility is to escort newly deceased souls to the afterlife. Their role is not to judge the deceased, but simply provide safe passage. But they are not only guardians of the dead, they also help with birth and introducing a newborn child’s soul to the world. They are also mediators between the unconscious and conscious realms.

Isn’t that quite the word? Psychopomp… Have fun spelling that!

X X X

They had been ordered silent, the ones who were hurt so badly that they were still screaming had been silenced by gags. In one case, a young man had had his tongue cut out. This place… it was pure hell. In fact, hell would have been a better place to be. The silence was thick with pain, but it was silent save a few moans and whimpers of pain and sorrow and fear that couldn’t be held in. No one wanted to break the silence and had the wrath of the guards visited upon them. 

Even so, cramped in the tiny cage, the girl couldn’t help but moan in agony. How long had she been trapped in here? In this tiny cage, barely able to breathe, unable to even move or stretch? It felt like an eternity. She gripped the bars of the cage, her fingers skeleton thin. Then, she felt it. The jagged edge of the metal bars that would be her escape from this tiny cage and hellish life. She pressed her wrist too the sharp break in the metal, wondering how long it would take her to bleed to death. 

It couldn’t take more than a few hours, she decided, and no one would notice. There was already so much blood on the floor. The metal dug into her wrist, the cage so small that she hardly had room to move. Her legs were crushed against her body, her arms pressed in at her sides, feet and hands poking through the bars to supply just a little more space. Her neck ached from having her head and back hunched down inside the tiny cage.

Hot blood welled up on her wrist and the warmth that accompanied the pain was almost welcomed. From not moving, she was so cold. Her blood was dripping on the floor, loudly in the silence, so she tucked her hand inside the cage and the dripping stopped. She rested her head on her knees, feeling her warm lifeblood running down her hand and dripping off her fingers. Soon… soon… it would all be over for her. There weren’t very many times where dead was better, but here… in this place… Dead was better than alive.

She breathed deeply, relaxed, her body growing cold and heavy as her blood drained from her wrist. It didn’t seem like it had taken very long yet black was already creeping in at the edges of her vision. Soon, she would be whisked across the River Styx and into the next world. Maybe, just maybe, the next world would be better, but she didn’t hold her breath. There wasn’t much chance for happiness, not for her, not with who and what she was.

She closed her eyes, letting the sounds and sight of the filthy warehouse and other tiny cages fade around her. There was a white light, distant and warm, like sunlight almost. She wanted to go into it, to go through it, to see what was on the other side. She had heard that when you died, you could see your family waiting on the other side, but no one was waiting for her. Then again, she wouldn’t have recognized her mother or father—she had never known them.

On the other side of the light, someone’s voice could be heard. It was a soft voice, humming and singing a tune she half-remembered. She listened to the music, to the song and the sound. The sounds of agony around her faded into nothingness and the light became everything she knew. She reached out, seeing the wet glimmer of blood on her hand and arm, dripping sluggishly from the gash she had created on her wrist. The light… the light… death… the end of all this pain… She wanted that. She wanted it all to be over. 

She could see the Reaper within the light. His face was hooded and his body was cloaked in a shroud of darkness, yet she sensed things about him. There was the gleam of the scythe he carried in long-fingered hands. It was lovely, blood-colored in crimson and onyx with a shining silvery handle. At the side of the blade, she almost felt as if she could see an eye, as if the scythe had its own consciousness and expression. The Reaper lifted his face, but all she could see was the glimmer of his blood-colored crimson eyes.

She smiled as the Reaper looked at her, comforted by the guardian of death’s calming presence. She suspected that some people feared both this light and the Reaper’s bloody eyes, but she didn’t She had been through things much more frightening than death. For years now, she had been wishing that she was already dead. It would have been better that way. The Reaper offered his hand and she took it, his skin surprisingly warm even as she felt his bones on her flesh.

Then, distantly, she heard shouting and yelling, and something clattered. There was a creak as the door of her tiny cell was torn open. The Reaper lifted his face as if to look beyond her and then, his fingers melted away. She wanted to open her mouth, to beg him to take her, but he was already gone. The icy floor met her naked body, the cold jolting her back into her hellish life. There was a pool of blood on the floor and the guards were looming over her. Death, it seemed, was still out of reach. Hell was still her only life.

…

Soul Eater Evans had never hungered for death. In fact, he hated and feared it. Death had come into his life at an early age and tormented his family. His father had died and since then, everything had changed, but he didn’t even like to think about it, much less talk about it. His mother had swiftly remarried and the Evans tried to carry on as if nothing had happened. It was almost as if his father had never quite existed and maybe he really hadn’t… Maybe, those years plagued with death had only been a horrible dream—a dream that Soul had each and every night.

He woke with a start, panting in the night. Outside his window, the silvery disk of the moon hung low and round in the inky-black sky. The stars around it glittered and twinkled. His mother had told him a story once, that the stars were the tears of a woman who had been separated from her lover on earth. He looked away.

Shivering, he slipped into his ensuite bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. If he listened hard enough, he could hear the sounds of his mother and stepfather making love in their room down the hall. He tuned out the sound and put an old jazz record into the phonograph and tried to relax as the soothing sounds flooded his dark bedroom. He returned to bed, lying there unable to sleep for a long time until the record reached its end and he had to get up to turn it over. 

Again, the soothing sounds filled the room and he tried to rest, but it was hopeless. Death had filled his head and there was no sleep for him now. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his father’s face as he imagined it would have been when he died. Bloody… in pain… pale and gaunt like the skull beneath the skin was trying to escape… The record crooned on softly in the night, drowning out the sounds of his mother and stepfather down the hall.

Soul closed his eyes.

The vision of his father’s deathly face filled his head.

His eyes snapped open again.

Outside the window, morning had dawned suddenly and brightly. He must have been able to sleep after all. Their household slave, Tsubaki, had already set a tray of breakfast on the nightstand beside his bed. The silver top gleamed in the morning light and Soul peaked beneath it. French toast adorned the plate, sprinkled with powdered sugar, and looking perfect, but he was in no mood to eat. He was always like that after he had had a particularly bad night. Later, he would find Tsubaki and let her eat his breakfast. The young woman would appreciate the food more than he ever would.

Sighing, exhausted and sore from his bad night, Soul turned off the phonograph and ducked into the bathroom. He would shower, dress, and head outside into the garden. Maybe then, he would feel better and maybe then, tonight he would be able to sleep soundly for the first time in years.

Since his father’s death…

Soul shook his head to clear those thoughts and started the shower, testing the temperature and shrugging out of his cotton pajamas. He stepped into the frosted shower stall, leaning his forehead on the cool wall and taking a few deep breaths. If he could just relax and get through the morning, the rest of the day would be alright. It was always alright in the daytime, so long as there was light and music and he didn’t close his eyes or think about death.

Ever since his father had died…

Soul’s fingers found the scar out of habit, tracing the path of the hideous scar that bisected his chest from shoulder to hip. It was gnarled, so sensitive, and still sent a deep throbbing ache deep into his body. He tore his hands away and focused on showering. 

Today was going to be a good day, he told himself, a mantra he repeated over and over. Today was going to be a good day. It was only Wednesday and this Saturday, it was his seventeenth birthday. His mother was throwing him a surprise party, even though she thought he didn’t know. 

He smiled faintly. Yes, if he could just get through the morning, today had the promise of being a good day.

X X X

Please, check out my first ORIGINAL NOVEL! **The Breaking of Poisonwood by Paradise Avenger.** (Summary: People were dead. When Skye Davis bought me at a slave auction as a birthday present for his brother, I had no idea what my new life was going to be like, but I had never expected this. It all started when Venus de Luna was killed and I was to take her place, to become the new savior… Then, bad things happened and some people died. In the heart of the earth, we discovered the ancient being that Frank Davis had found and created and used to his advantage. The Poisonwood—)

I really like the way this chapter came out, even though honestly not that much happened. 

Questions, comments, concerns?

Review!


	2. The Surprise Party

I forgot to tell everyone! I’ve been making a few music videos on YouTube and I think they’re pretty good! I’d love it if you would check them out!

X X X

Soul was able to get through Wednesday without too much trouble. He let Tsubaki eat the French toast she had brought him for breakfast and she was grateful. Being his stepfather’s slave, it wasn’t often she got to eat things like French toast and powdered sugar. Sometimes, it was rare that she got to eat at all. Soul’s stepfather was as mean as a snake when it came to slaves, no matter how many times Soul’s sweet mother tried to talk to him about it. Wednesday night, Soul had that nightmare again, but it woke him up around seven and he was content to just get up. It was worse when the nightmares came in the middle of the night and he couldn’t go back to sleep.

Thursday and Friday were both much of the same. Soul was happy it was so close to Thanksgiving and he didn’t have to go back to school for a while. It was nice to be able to be at home, relaxing and doing his best to get through the nights. The nights were the worst… but he tried not to think about it. Ever since his father’s death… and his fingers found the scar on his chest. He ripped his hand away. He had to stop doing that. He had to stop touching it like it would magically go away. It wasn’t going anywhere, like the nightmares, the scar was there to stay. 

On Saturday, his mother found him in the library, smiling beautifully. 

Soul loved his mother for all her beauty and grace and her kind heart, but he didn’t love her choice in men. Aurora Monroe née Evans (1) was a stunning woman with the face of a porcelain doll and the body of a child, but she had this hapless air around her like she couldn’t get through the day without a man to watch over her. Soul suspected that his mother put on this attitude as an act to make her husband, William Monroe, feel more like a man, but he could never be certain. Maybe, his mother really was like a doll, making her way through her life so long as she had someone to move her limbs about for her. 

“Hey Mom,” Soul said softly, closing the book on music he had been absently reading.

She smiled, showing her perfect white teeth. “Hey baby. How do I look?” She spun for his approval, showing him the fine dress she had made from pale violet satin that she had found in the attic. 

Often, Aurora made her own clothing so that she looked like a lovely faerie princess remaining from an earlier century. She really was beautiful… Her hair was like spun silver, shining beautifully and plaited into an ornate braid that fell to her waist. Her eyes were the color of ripe strawberries at the height of summertime, her skin like pale cream, and her hands were like butterflies. There was a time when Aurora had been a model and an actress, but she had quit that life after she married Soul’s father, Dante Evans. Soul had gotten his looks from his mother as had his older brother, Wes. She had passed on the traits of an albino and, once again, it was as if no trace of Soul’s father had ever existed.

“You look lovely, Mom. What’s the occasion?” Soul asked her.

She kissed his cheek. “Why, your birthday of course.”

He smiled, feigning innocence. “Really?”

She pinched his cheek. “Did you think I had forgotten?”

“Oh please, he’s known all along. Nothing gets past him,” Wes said from the doorway, twirling his keys around his finger. Like their mother, Wes had inherited the albino traits, but they looked far better on their mother than they did on Wes. “Right Soul?”

Aurora smiled at both her sons. “I don’t care if both of you know,” she said sweetly.

Soul began, “Mom, I know you’re planning a party—” 

She pressed her fingers to his lips. “Humor me. Go on out with your brother.”

Soul sighed, but nodded. “Sure…”

“I told you he’d figure it out,” Wes said to Aurora, smiling. 

She shooed at both of them with her hands. “Hush, just go on now,” she said.

Soul shelved the book he had been reading and followed Wes from the library. They passed Will in the kitchen, reading the paper and drinking coffee as if nothing was out of the ordinary was planned for the day. Will was much better at keeping a secret than Aurora was, even after he knew the cover had been blown. Tsubaki, in her black and white French maid outfit, was scrubbing the floors at Will’s feet and there was a bruise developing on the side of her face. Will must have hit her. People could say what they wanted about Will and how he treated slaves, but he had always been kind to Aurora and her sons and that was all that really mattered.

“Come on,” Wes said as he opened the front door. “You may as well pretend you don’t know what they’re planning.”

“It would be more of a surprise party if they didn’t do it every year,” Soul said and followed Wes out into the morning sunlight. The day was already warm, even for November, and it promised to be a beautiful day. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Soul inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. 

“Come on, come on,” Wes urged him. “The sooner we leave, the sooner they get started, and the sooner we can have cake!”

“What kind of cake is it?” Soul asked his older brother.

Wes grinned at him. “You may as well be surprised by at least one thing for your birthday.”

Soul narrowed his eyes, but smiled. “Alright.”

Then, the two of them piled into Wes’s car and headed out for a few hours of nothing while Aurora and Will set up the not-so-surprise birthday party. They caught a movie, poked around in an old book store for a while, had a cup of coffee at a nearby café, and then Wes’s phone rang. Soul could hear Aurora’s happy voice as she told him it was okay to bring Soul home now. Soul smirked—really, his mother tried too hard to surprise him and she never did. 

Until today that was…

Wes pulled the car to a stop in front of their home and shut off the engine. “Are you going to at least pretend to be surprised?” he asked his little brother. “Mom’s worked really hard on this.”

“Of course I will,” Soul said. “I’ve almost perfected the art of faking surprise.”

Wes grinned. “Yeah, yeah. Get out before I decide to run you over.”

Soul pushed open the door and trooped up the front steps, admiring the beautiful house where he had lived his entire life. Wes joined him and opened the front door, pushing Soul inside and into the raucous roar of “Surprise! Happy Birthday, Soul!” and stepped back to watch his little brother’s act. Damn, Soul was right. He had perfected the art of faking surprise. Well, he supposed you get good at something when you did it often enough. Aurora was a fan of surprise parties, but she wasn’t very good at putting them into play.  
Aurora made her way through the throng of guests to hug and kiss Soul. “Surprised?” she asked him.

“Of course,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

She punched his shoulder playfully. “You’re such a brat,” she said.

Soul embraced his mother. “It’s great, Mom, really.”

“Sure, sure,” she said cheerfully. “Why don’t you just open your presents and be quiet?”

Will came up behind Soul, smiling and ruffling the young man’s snow-white hair before slinging an arm around his wife’s narrow shoulders. “You’re a good sport, Soul. Happy Birthday,” he said. Then, he passed Soul a small white card with the neatly-written message inside—‘In your room. Wait until after the party.’ Soul tried to catch Will’s eyes and ask what the card meant, but Will led Aurora off into the party and Soul never got the chance. 

Oh well…

X X X

(1) Those of you who read my other slave story for Soul Eater (Where Do We Go When We Die?) are going to recognize the names and appearances of Soul’s parents, Dante and Aurora Evans, but I assure you, the similarities between the two stories stop there. After creating Aurora and Dante, I just can’t picture Soul’s parents by any other names.

Please, everyone check me out on YouTube!

Questions, comments, concerns?


	3. A Gift From Will

Urg. I have to work ALL DAY tomorrow. It bites.

X X X

The party seemed to drag on and on as the anticipation and curiosity ate Soul alive from the inside out. All he had been thinking about was the card Will had given him. What was waiting for him in his room? And why did he need to wait until after the party? As he bid each guest goodbye politely, he began thinking about what it could be. His family was quite rich and he had been given a car when he turned sixteen and got his license. Besides, they wouldn’t put a car in his bedroom. Maybe it was some kind of pet. Soul had always wanted a dog, but it wouldn’t be very smart to leave a puppy or even a dog in his room unattended for the course of the party. After a few more unsuccessful guesses, he gave up. 

He would just have to be surprised. 

Surprisingly, he was indeed surprised.

After all the guests finally left and the last car vacated the cobblestone driveway, Soul leaned against the closed door. For a moment, he watched his mother and older brother begin to clean up the remains of the surprise party. It wasn’t too much of a mess because Soul didn’t have many friends his own age. Mostly, only his family attended his birthday parties. Mainly, there were just balloons everywhere. With a sigh, Soul began to help them, but Will stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and a smile.

“I’m sure you’re curious. Just go on upstairs,” his stepfather told him with a smile. 

“Really?” Soul asked politely.

“Tsubaki is more than capable of cleaning up the mess, aren’t you?” 

Tsubaki shuffled into the room and Soul saw that there was another bruise on her face. Will must have hit her again. Across the space between them, Tsubaki’s blue eyes met Soul’s beseechingly and he wished there was something he could do, but there wasn’t. Tsubaki was first and foremost Will’s slave. Soul had no right to intervene. Offering her a soft smile, he climbed the staircase and headed for his bedroom. The curiosity chewed at him again and he eagerly opened the door.

There, sitting on his neatly-made bed, was a young woman. Her naked body was tied up with countless dark blue-violet ribbons that covered her nipples and there was a large bow tied over her crotch to hide her pubic hair and snatch. She had full pressing breasts, straining against the ribbons tied over them, and a beautifully curvaceous body. She was lovely with long purple free-flowing hair, bright golden eyes fixed on the floor, and full red lips. Fake cat ears had been attached to her head and a false tale was tied to her waist, hanging against her thigh.

Will’s present to Soul was a slave. 

A sex slave, by the look of it, too.

Soul stumbled back, shocked. He backed out the threshold of his bedroom door until his back collided with the wall across the hall. Then, he just stood there, staring at the young woman sitting on his bed with his eyes wide and his mouth half-open. Slowly, she lifted her chin and looked at him. Her face was flawless, but there was something in her eyes that chilled him to the core. Her golden eyes, though beautiful, were… dead. There was death in her eyes.

Soul grabbed his bedroom door and slammed it shut with a bang. Then, like the devil himself was at Soul’s heels, he raced back downstairs. 

Tsubaki was still cleaning up the mess left by the party. Wes was rhythmically letting the air out of the leftover balloons, inhaling the helium, and giggling in that high-pitched voice that helium brought on. Aurora and Will were sitting on the couch, each looking proud of themselves for what they had accomplished, but Soul couldn’t let them bask in the glory of what they had done. That sex slave with the dead golden eyes… she had to go! He couldn’t deal with seeing the death written all over her face.

“Soul, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Aurora asked, concerned.

Will grinned, watching Soul pant for breath. “That was fast. I figured you’d at least wait a little while before you broke her in.”

“She has to go!” Soul gasped out. “I-I can’t—”

Aurora shushed him and helped him sit on the couch between herself and Will. “What is it, sweetie? What’s wrong?”

“Don’t you like her?” Will asked. “She’s not a virgin, but she’s gorgeous.”

Soul shook his head fiercely. “She has to go, Will. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but… I can’t. She has to go.”

“Why, Soul?” Aurora asked her son, rubbing his back. 

Soul met her crimson eyes with his own. “I just…” His hand strayed to the vicious scar bisecting his chest. “I don’t want her. I can’t. You have to get rid of her. Please!”

“Alright,” Aurora said gently and exchanged a glance with Will. 

Soul’s stepfather put a hand on his shoulder. “What is it? Don’t you like her?”

Soul bit his lip, realized his hand was pressed to his chest, and yanked his hand down. In his lap, he twisted his fingers together. “I…” he broke off. “There’s something about her that I don’t like.”

“That’s okay,” Will said. “Tomorrow, you and I can go to the warehouse and you can pick your own slave.”

“I don’t need a slave,” Soul whispered softly. 

Will patted his back. “It’s a family tradition to get a slave when you turn seventeen,” he said.

Soul bit back the words, ‘But you’re not my real father. You’re not my real family.’ Instead, he whispered, “Okay… Tomorrow…”

Wes joined them at the couch, his voice high-pitched with helium. “What’s she look like? Can I have her?”

“She’s gorgeous,” Will said with a smile that was all teeth. “Why don’t you take a look at her? If you like her, you can have her. Then, we won’t have to resell her.”

“That’d be great,” Wes said, sucked in another breath of helium, and continued, “I’ll go take a peek right now.”

Will stood up from the couch. “I’ll go with you. I wouldn’t mind seeing her again. Maybe trying her out myself…”

Aurora shuddered. 

Will glanced at her, but didn’t say anything. He and Wes disappeared up the stairs, headed for Soul’s bedroom. Wes’s high-pitched voice bounced against the walls of the hallway and then faded completely. Soul and Aurora sat together on the couch in silence.

“Soul?” Aurora whispered, concerned for her youngest son.

He turned his face away, ashamed. “I’m sorry, Mom. I just… I can’t. Her eyes…”

Aurora slid her hand over his knee. “What is it, baby?”

“Her eyes… They’re… dead…” Soul confessed to his mother.

“Baby, I thought we were past this,” she whispered. “It’s been ten years since your father died.”

“I know,” he murmured, “but I just…”

Aurora gently touched his face, caressing the dark bruise-like circles that had formed beneath his crimson eyes. “Have you been having nightmares?”

“I’m okay,” Soul insisted. He didn’t want to worry his mother. He never told her that the nightmares had never ended, even after his sessions with the psychiatrist, and that he often couldn’t sleep. “It’s just been a little rough this week.”

“Oh baby,” she whispered. Aurora hugged him gently, rubbing his back. “That day… it’s getting close, isn’t it?”

Soul nodded. 

“Do you want to… go away somewhere? Or anything?” Aurora asked him gently.

Soul shook his head. “No, I’m alright.”

Will came down the stairs. “Wes likes her,” he said to Aurora and Soul. “So we won’t have to resell her. Soul, tomorrow morning, you and I will go to the warehouse and you can pick out a slave yourself. How’s that sound?”

Soul forced a smile. “Yeah. Sounds good,” he said. Then, he faked a yawn and a stretch. “Well, I’m tired. I’m going to go to bed.”

“Soul—” Aurora broke in.

“Goodnight Mom,” he interrupted and hustled up the stairs before either Will or his mother could call out to him again. 

Soul hesitated at his bedroom door, wondering if the female slave was still in there, and listened closely for any sounds out of the ordinary. All was quiet. He opened the door and peeked inside. His bed was rumpled where she had been sitting, but she was gone from his room. With a sigh of relief, he ducked into his room and closed the door behind himself. A moment later, the silence was broken by Wes’s cries of pleasure. Soul quickly put a record into the phonograph and turned up the volume, drowning out the sounds.

He took a quick shower, crawled into his bed, and fell asleep to the sound of the smooth jazz of his favorite record. In the middle of the night, Soul was woken by the loud crack of thunder as a storm raged outside. The lightning flashed brightly outside the window and sheets of rain assaulted the glass. After that, he couldn’t fall asleep again. Each time he closed his eyes, he imagined his father’s face—bloody, pale, dying… dead… Then, his mind was filled with the image of the slave’s dead golden eyes. It was horrible!

X X X

I fooled you all! Haha! I bet everyone thought his present was going to have been Maka, but it wasn’t! Haha! Fooled you! How mad is everyone? Ah, I enjoy this way too much to be healthy. I also enjoy writing slave stories way more than should be healthy.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	4. The Warehouse

I would like everyone to STOP comparing this story to “Where Do We Go When We Die?” Yes, they are similar in the fact that they have slavery. Yes, I have reversed the roles. But, unless I send everyone to the Denbigh Asylum and have Yuca obsessed with getting a baby again, these are two completely different stories. So, stop comparing them. That’s like comparing Twilight and Interview with a Vampire. Yes, they both have vampires, so are they similar? Yes. But are they both incredibly different? Yes. 

Let it go. They are going to be very different plotlines.

Alright?

X X X

The next morning, Soul and Will piled into the car together. Wes was staying home to play with his new slave, the golden-eyed woman whose name Soul learned was Blair from his mother. Aurora hated going to the warehouse and was going to stay home with Tsubaki. Soul knew his mother was going to get Tsubaki something to eat and a hot bath while Will was out of the house. It was strange the way they lived. Soul and Aurora both couldn’t bear the way Tsubaki was treated, but neither of them wanted to cross Will so they worked as a team to help take care of her. One of them would occupy Will so that the other could tend Tsubaki. If you thought about it, it was a little bit sad.

“So,” Will said to Soul as they drove into the city. “What kind of slave do you think you want?”

“I don’t know,” Soul confessed. “I’ve never gone… shopping for a slave.”

“It’s fun,” Will assured him. “They have all kinds of slaves—sex and labor, cleaning and cooking, for having children or working in the fields. There are even some slaves just to be beaten, trained to take the pain and to survive. You just name it.”

Soul shuddered. “How sick…” he whispered.

“What?” Will asked.

“Nothing,” Soul said. “Just… excited.”

Will smiled and turned his attention to the road. 

Twenty minutes later, they pulled up in front of the slave warehouse and piled out of the car. The pavement of the parking lot shone with water from last night’s storm. There was a thick blanket of grey clouds overhead, hanging low and pressing down on Soul. The air smelled moist and fertile, as if flowers could be grown in it. Soul loved the rain. He loved the scent of the world after the rain, the way the raindrops pattered against the glass, the cool damp warmth of the air, the sound, everything. He loved the rain and the time that followed it.

“Ready to go in?” Will asked.

“Sure.” Soul followed his stepfather into the warehouse, shivering.

The slave warehouse was a building that had been brightly painted with a few well-tended flowering shrubs in front of it. Inside, there was a lovely lobby with faux-leather furniture and a pretty receptionist sitting behind a low cherry desk, busily cataloging a collection of new slaves that the warehouse had received that morning. She was pretty, wheat-blonde hair scraped back into a bun and wearing a neat suit in pale pink with a string of pearls around her neck. She smiled when they entered.

“Hello, Will. Back so soon?” she asked Soul’s stepfather.

“Hey Tiffany,” Will said. “The slave I bought my stepson didn’t work out so we’re here to do a little shopping.”

“Oh,” she said and tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. She turned her attention to Soul. “Blair was one of our top sex slaves. I can’t believe you didn’t like her.”

Soul didn’t mention that her dead eyes had unnerved him. “It just… wasn’t going to work out.”

“I see,” Tiffany said and turned her attention to her computer. “We just got in a few new slaves this morning, very nice ones. Do you have any idea what kind of slave you want?”

Soul shook his head.

Will put his hand on Soul’s shoulder. “He’d just like to browse.”

Tiffany smiled. “Can I narrow down the field any?”

“Sure,” Will said before Soul could speak. “Something female and young, pretty—” he glanced at Soul “—maybe a virgin.”

Soul’s crimson eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, but Tiffany was suddenly in a flurry of motion. She probably got paid a commission for each slave she sold and was in a hurry to make another sale off their family. She shuffled a sheaf of files on the desk and got to her feet, her high heels tapping on the tiled floor loudly. She went to the intercom on the wall and said into it, “Get out and clean up the females from age fifteen to sixteen and toss in any virgins we’ve got.”

“Roger,” a man said on the other end of it. 

Then, Tiffany led them through the lobby and into the brightly-lit recesses of the slave warehouse. It all happened so fast that Soul didn’t even have a chance to protest. The walls were lined with dark metal cages barely large enough to hold animals, but there was a young woman cramped inside each cage. The floor was wet, freshly washed, but Soul could smell blood and the stink of urine. It was worse than going to the animal shelter. While Soul felt ill, Tiffany and Will seemed completely unbothered. These people were only slaves after all. They weren’t even people, not really…

“I’ll leave you to browse,” Tiffany said. “When you find on you like, please inform me.” Then, with a smile, she hurried back to the lobby and left them alone. At least she wasn’t going to hover over them, for that at least Soul was grateful.

“Go ahead, Soul,” Will assured him. “Anything you want, okay?”

Soul nodded, wetting his lips nervously.

Will headed off down the hallway, ogling the slaves trapped inside the tiny cages, until he disappeared around a bend in the hallway. 

Soul took several deep breaths to steady his aching nerves and tried his best to look at the slaves trapped within the miniscule cages. Maybe if he pretended he was at the animal shelter and told himself that he was rescuing one of them, it would be easier to chose. But, thinking that way only made it harder. They all looked so broken, so tormented, their eyes all dead and buried. The death here haunted him, plagued and tortured him.

Shuddering, Soul made his way down the hallway. Maybe he could tell Will that he didn’t find anything he liked and they could leave. Maybe, he wouldn’t have to purchase a slave at all, but he doubted it. Will seemed pretty set in his tradition that Soul get a slave when he turned seventeen. Soul chewed his lip, forcing his eyes to ghost over the caged women. God, some of them couldn’t have been more than seven or eight—they were probably the virgins. It was heartbreaking.

Then, he heard it.

The crack of a whip and a muted despairing scream.

Soul looked around, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. The slaves in the cages all shrank down, looking away. The sound came again and it went into Soul’s heart, breaking it into pieces. There was death in that sound, the Reaper touching the soul of the person who was being beaten, but Soul couldn’t shy away from it. Something was calling out to him, pleading with him to help.

“Where’s the sound coming from?” Soul asked one of them.

The girl didn’t answer, keeping her eyes down.

“Tell me,” he pleaded.

Still, she was silent.

Soul looked around wildly, his crimson eyes burning, and then he spotted a door tucked between a few of the cages, half-hidden in shadows with light slanting through the cracks of the threshold. There was a small window in it, barred with chicken wire between the layers of glass. Soul peeked through the window and his heart shattered in his chest. 

It was the same feeling that the nightmares gave him and a sight that belonged within them.

Inside that room, the walls were bare and there was a drain in the middle of the floor and a green hose rolled up in the corner. The bright fluorescent lighting cast deep shadows across the stained floor. At the room’s center was a young girl with ash-blonde hair, her wrists were chained above her head, attached to a hook on the ceiling. From her bound hands, her naked body dangled, her toes barely touching the floor. Blood and tears dripped from her body, staining the floor and slowly draining towards the drain in the center.

Circling her cruelly was one of the men who worked here in the warehouse. He was taunting her, lashing her body with the whip he carried as he did so. Each crack of the whip on her naked body made her cry out in pain, tears dripping off her chin. Then, even as Soul surreptitiously watched, the man unfastened his pants, pulled out his penis, and urinated all over the girl’s exposed body. When he finished and put himself away, he threw his head back and laughed. Another man entered, took the whip from the first man, and the process repeated.

Soul felt sick. What could she possibly have done to deserve being treated like that?

“Find something you like?”

Soul jumped out of his skin, whirling to face Will. His stepfather peered through the window and a small smirk pulled at his lips. 

“Ah, punishment,” Will remarked.

“For what?” Soul whispered.

Will shrugged. “Who knows. So, did you find something you like?”

Soul was silent.

“You’re not thinking… her? Are you, Soul?” Will asked.

Soul chewed his lower lip. He hadn’t seen this girl’s face. What if there was death in her eyes? But as he watched the second man begin to urinate on the girl’s naked beaten body, mixing with her blood and tears, he just wanted to do something to help her—anything he could. No one deserved that.

“Yes,” Soul said and nodded.

Will sighed. “I did say anything. Come on. We’ll talk to Tiffany and get it wrapped up for you.”

‘It,’ Soul thought to himself as he followed Will back into the lobby. 

…

She was hanging from the ceiling by her wrists and had been for hours, maybe even days, maybe even weeks. It felt as if it had been that long. It felt like an eternity. She wasn’t sure what was worse—being crammed into the tiny cage or hung here like a fish to be gutted. The man circled her, cracking the whip against his side and then snapped it across her back. The flesh tore like the skin of a ripe peach, blood running down her back.

Her wrist throbbed and ached where she had gouged it on the bar of her cage in an attempt to commit suicide. But her attempt had failed and now, she was being punished. It only made her want to die more. The man whipped her again, striking low across the backs of her knees and tearing a cry from her ragged throat. Then, the man stepped back and she watched from the corner of her eyes as he pulled out his dick and unleashed a steady stream of hot piss on her naked body.

It was sickening, but she was almost grateful for the warmth of the urine on her icy flesh. The salt burned her wounds and tears dripped down her face. She stifled a sob, trying her best to breathe and just be alive. The whip slashed across her back again, then her buttocks and the backs of her thighs. He circled her and whipped her breasts until another cry of pain escaped her. He taunted her, teased and tormented her, and then whipped her some more.

She closed her eyes tightly, willing the gash on her wrist to open and bleed the life out of her again. If only no one caught her this time, then maybe she would see the beautiful Reaper again. Maybe, she could die, but the wound have been cauterized by the warehouse’s doctor and there wasn’t much chance that it would ever begin to bleed again, not unless she found something jagged to tear herself open with anew. The chance of that was slim. They would probably leave her hanging here until she was sold.

Then, it happened. Over the intercom, she heard the words she didn’t think she would ever hear. The man stopped a moment, listening, and answered, “Roger.” He circled her, grinning, and whipped her one final time, lashing the whip on her exposed breasts so that she whimpered in anguish. He released her wrists and let her body crash to the concrete floor, another scream of pain escaping her ragged throat. He dragged her over the drain, grabbed the hose, and cruelly hosed the blood, piss, and tears from her naked body. 

Shivering, she lay there, unable to move and barely able to breathe as the man left to get her some clothes. Her body was so weak from hanging there without moving, so cold and numb, and she couldn’t even remember the last time she had been fed. He returned with a t-shirt and shorts and stuffed her naked body into them. He dragged her to her feet, one hand grabbing her buttocks and squeezing painfully. Then, he hauled her from the torture room.

She wasn’t sure whether or not to be happy about being purchased. Yes, it got her out of this hell, but who was to say that her new master wouldn’t be worse than this hellish warehouse? But if she was out of this place, there was a possibility that she would be able to try to take her own life again. Then, maybe, the beautiful psychopomp would come to guide her to the next world and she would have eternal slumber and eternal peace. All she could wish for was a swift death.

X X X

Remember, STOP comparing this to “Where Do We Go When We Die?” Slavery aside, they are very different stories. 

Questions, comments, concerns?


	5. Soul's New Slave

**Mr. Anonymous:** I am loving your reviews. They’re so detailed and long, but also giving in nice critiques. I wish you had an account so I could reply directly, but I guess this works.

This was originally part of the last chapter, but it was way too long so I broke it up and put it in this chapter. I’m enjoying the way this story is coming out, much slower than how my stories usually do. Normally I jump right into everything.

X X X

“Hey Tiffany,” Will said and leaned languidly on the front desk. Soul could admit that his stepfather was a handsome man and clearly Tiffany could admit it too. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Will was tall, but narrow-hipped and tight-assed with a barrel chest and broad shoulders. He had dark hair that flopped across his forehead in need of a cut and bright almost-white blue eyes. In a way, he looked a little like Soul’s dead father.

“Have you made a choice?” she asked and folded her neatly manicured hands, the nails painted pink to match her suit. 

Will nodded, giving her a winning smile. “There’s a girl being disciplined right now. He’d like her,” he explained.

Tiffany looked troubled, but didn’t say anything to change his mind. “Of course,” she said finally. “Just a few minutes while I tell Richard to clean her up.” She spoke a few words into the intercom and was once again assured with the answer of, ‘Roger.’ Then, she gave Soul and Will a winning smile. “She’ll be right out, but are you certain…?”

Will glanced at Soul, questioningly.

Soul nodded. “Yeah.”

“Alright,” Tiffany said and turned her attention back to Will as they discussed payment. Soul half-listened to them, sickened by the thought of owning another person’s life. Then, he heard the price they settled on and almost felt dizzy. How could any life be worth so little? 

Then, the door opened and one of the men who had been beating and urinating on the young girl stepped out, dragging the girl by her upper arm behind him while his other hand held a chain that was attached to the collar around her neck. The girl’s long bare legs scraped on the floor, her head drooping and her pale hair obscuring her face, and her nakedness had been covered with a baggy t-shirt and some cotton shorts. Some blood was soaking through the fabric. Her right arm had been wrapped with thick white bandages. The man dragged her over to Soul and handed him the chain for her collar. At Soul’s feet, she remained slumped down, unmoving.

“Alright,” Will said and accepted a small folder of papers along with a receipt from Tiffany. “Let’s go.” Then, without waiting for Soul, he turned and left the warehouse.

The girl struggled to get to her feet, but was unable to. Her entire body trembled and shook weakly as she tried to get up. Then, she collapsed on the floor at his feet, breathing deeply and raggedly. He crouched beside her, hyperaware of Tiffany watching him closely. Her eyes seemed to burn into his back straight out the front of him.

“Can’t you stand?” he asked her.

She shook her head and he saw tears dripping down her face. She curved in her shoulders to protect the vulnerable parts of her fragile body.

“It’s okay,” he whispered and carefully gathered her up in his arms. 

Her body was hauntingly light, her limbs as thin as twigs and trembling like a baby bird, and she was freezing cold as if she was already dead. She probably couldn’t get to her feet because she was so weak, starved to the limits of her life and beaten within an inch of it. Gently and nervously, Soul carried her out to Will’s car, ignoring the burn of Tiffany’s eyes on his back. Will lifted a dark brow questioningly, but didn’t say anything even as Soul gently settled his new slave into the backseat and climbed into the passenger seat. Silently, Will drove them home.

…

Her heart was pounding.

She couldn’t express the shock that flooded through her body when her new master didn’t beat her black and green for not being able to stand and walk. In fact, he hadn’t even looked angry. He had knelt down and picked her up and carried her from the warehouse. His body had been so warm, immaculately warm, and his touch was so gentle. He didn’t grind his fingers into her wounds or bruises. 

Why? Why had he been so kind?

Then, he settled her into the backseat of a plush car. The leather seats cradled her broken body, soothing her aches and throbbing wounds. Surreptitiously, she curled her bare toes and fingers, trying to work the blood back into her extremities. God, she felt so weak, like death was already upon her. She leaned her head back against the seat, breathing lightly.

Maybe she was dying, but her life wasn’t that simple.

She was so tired, so exhausted. Maybe, if she could only close her eyes for a minute, she would feel better. The seat was warm, the car quiet and safe like a womb. She finally had clothes on her naked body. No one was beating her and she could finally feel her fingers and toes. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been able to sit down in a comfortable place.

Maybe… just a little rest… just a little… 

Her eyes slid closed and she leaned her head on the back of the seat. It began to rain, the sound of the drops pattering on the roof of the car like the soft tap-tap of fingers. The purr of the engine and tires rolling on the road lulled and relaxed her. She wrapped her arms around her bare legs, resting her cheek on her bent knees. Her body felt so heavy.  
Sleep wrapped its arms around her and she finally slept.

…

Soul glanced at his new slave in the rearview mirror. She had her arms wrapped around her body tightly, her face buried in her knees, and she appeared to be sleeping. Her shoulders were so thin and jagged, skull-like, and the t-shirt pressed against the bones of her shoulders the neck hung low, exposing her delicate collarbones. One was crooked, as if it had been broken, and there was a dark bruise around her throat in the shape of fingers. What had she been through?

“Why’d you pick her?” Will asked Soul suddenly.

Soul rolled his shoulders. “I don’t know.”

“She’s not very developed,” Will remarked. “Does she have a pretty face or something?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see her face,” Soul confessed. 

Will lifted his eyebrow. “You didn’t?”

Soul shook his head. 

Will sighed heavily. “You have a bleeding heart, Soul, just like your mother.”

Soul lowered his eyes and folded his hands in his lap, studying the knuckles and soft rounded nails. He had been chewing on his fingernails lately, gnawing at the skin around them, and one finger was particularly damaged and bloody. He really didn’t want to have this conversation, but it was coming whether he liked it or not. 

“Slaves are not people, Soul,” Will said softly. “I know you and Aurora treat Tsubaki like she’s human when I’m not around and I let it go because I don’t want to upset your mother. But really, Soul, slaves are not to be coddled or loved or even truly cared for. They are not pets. They’re slaves.”

“I know,” Soul said to appease his stepfather. “I know.”

Outside the glass, the rain slowed and then stopped completely. The silence seemed deafening and Soul could hear his own heart pounding.

They pulled up to the house and Soul saw Blair standing at Wes’s bedroom window. She was naked, bare breasts like ripe peaches, and her ample chest was covered in fresh hickeys that hadn’t been there when Soul had received her all wrapped in ribbons the night before. Wes must have been using her up like it was going out of style. Even as Soul watched, Wes came up behind her and gripped her breasts, his mouth going to the side of her throat. Blair’s dead eyes stared past the glass at the world beyond, uncaring even as Wes pushed her naked breasts up against the cold glass. Soul looked sharply away, shame burning in his throat like a tangible stone.

Will got out of the car and headed into the house, leaving Soul alone with his new slave and the paperwork that came with her. She was still sleeping soundly in the backseat, breathing deep and even and relaxed. Soul was loathe to wake her, but he wanted to get her out of the car and into the house before it started raining again.

Gently, he grasped her shoulder and was about to gently shake her when her eyes snapped open and she looked right into his face for one heart-stopping moment. She wasn’t beautiful, cute and pretty maybe, but certainly not beautiful. Her eyes were the color of green olives, her hair was ash-blonde and lackluster as if she hadn’t had a shower in a very long time, her skin was mottled with bruises and small cuts, and there was a hideous split in the center of her lower lip. 

She was staring at the face of her new master. If she had been thinking—her mind not foggy with sleep—she might have quickly averted her eyes, but she wasn’t thinking. His face was too striking, too beautiful, too stunning, too much like something she had only dreamed about. His skin was the color of pale cream, his hair like starlight, and his eyes the rich color of blood. There was something about him that reminded her of the Reaper who had been waiting for her on the other side of the deathly light.

For a moment, they just stared at each other.

Then, she gasped in a sharp breath and looked away. 

A moment later, the skies opened up and a torrential downpour began. It was as if a bucket had been overturned, drenching them both to the core within seconds. Soul grabbed her hand, tucked the file of papers under his arm, pulled her from the car, and she immediately fell. Her legs just gave out beneath her, knees scraping on the cobblestones. Soul scooped her up in his arms, crushing the papers, and quickly ushered everything inside the house. He kicked the door shut behind them with a bang. The foyer was deserted, but he could hear Wes going at it upstairs. Will and Aurora were in the kitchen, discussing Soul’s new slave.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Soul said to the girl in his arms. Her body felt like a sack of bones and feathers, so light, so fragile, so damaged. Now that she was this close to him, he could smell the stink of her body. She reeked of dirt, piss, blood, and stale air. Nervously, he asked, “Do you think you can walk?”

She nodded. Her fingers pressed to his chest just at the top of his scar and he winced.

Quickly, he set her on her feet, holding her elbow just in case. She steadied herself somehow and remained on her feet. Her legs trembled with the effort and the shudder slowly traveled through her entire body until she was shaking like a leaf.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Soul said again. “We can get you a hot shower and something to eat, okay?” Still supporting her elbow, he led her up the stairs and into his bedroom. The sounds of Wes as he had sex with Blair were louder here and Soul quickly ushered her into his room and put on a record to drown out the sounds. 

She slid to her knees, bracing herself on her hands and trembling horribly.

Soul crouched beside her, placing his hand on her back gently. “Are you alright?” he asked her.

She nodded, hair falling in her face and hiding her expression.

“Get up and we’ll get you into the shower. I’m sure you’ll feel better,” Soul offered.

She nodded again, wetting her lips.

Soul helped her to her feet and led her to his bathroom. He started the shower, watching her from the corner of his eye. She had lowered her face, hiding from him, with both arms wrapped securely around her body as if to hold herself together. The water was nice and warm so Soul fetched her a fresh towel and offered her a small smile even though she wasn’t looking at him. 

“Go ahead and get cleaned up, okay? You can use my shampoo and soap, okay?”

She nodded.

Soul waited for her to say something, but she didn’t. She just stood there, wet and shivering weakly. He removed the heavy chain from her collar and shoved it into one of the drawers beneath the sink so he wouldn’t have to see it again. Then, he ducked out of the bathroom and closed the door behind him, giving her the first peace and privacy she had probably had in years.

X X X

Alright, we’ve got Maka and Soul together now. Woot!

Questions, comments, concerns?


	6. Little Blessings

I just realized this is my first FanFicition where the main slave is a girl. I always do boys. How interesting…

X X X

She was standing in the bathroom of her new master’s home, shocked to say the least. She could hear soft jazz playing on the other side of the bathroom door, softly. He had left her in here, alone and in private, and he didn’t seem to be coming back. She peeled off the t-shirt and shorts she had been dressed in and ventured a hand beneath the spray of the shower. Immediately, she snatched her hand back, clutching it to her chest in alarm. The cauterized wound on her wrist throbbed when she touched it.

The water was… warm!

Water was never warm for slaves. Earlier today, she had been given a freezing hose bath and the time before that, a pot of scalding water had been dumped over her head. But this water was warm and perfect. She glanced at the door, wondering if it could be a mistake. But he had set the temperature himself. But he couldn’t really intend for her to have a nice shower, could he? Before he would have a chance to change his mind, she hustled into the shower. 

The warm water cascaded over her head and shoulders, soothing her instantly. She muffled a moan of relief and scrubbed her fingers through her filthy hair. All around her, the foul scents that were being washed off of her swirled and dirt and blood wound its way down the drain. It felt so good to finally be so clean and warm, especially since her last few days had been spent strung up in that hellish torture room being alternately whipped and pissed on. 

She poured a small amount of shampoo into her palm and quickly scrubbed it through her hair, watching the thick dirt wash away. Then, she swiftly took the bar of soap and scrubbed her body down. It was amazing to finally be able to clean herself fully. She scrubbed her legs and feet, between her legs and everything disgusting that had dried there, her whipped breasts and back, until her skin was pink and clean. The warm water was so relaxing, but she figured she should hurry and get out before her master grew angry.

She shut off the water and stepped out onto the rug. The towel he had left out for her was thick and fluffy and blessedly soft against her tormented flesh, but she didn’t waste any time treasuring the towel. She quickly dried off and redressed in the clothing she had been given at the warehouse. God, they reeked just like she used to, but it didn’t matter. She was only a slave. She folded up the used towel and set it down on the vanity.

Nervously, she opened the bathroom door and stepped out into her master’s bedroom. He was digging through his dresser in search of something, humming along with his smooth jazz record as if played softly in the background. Finally, he found what he was searching for and triumphantly held up a t-shirt and some sweatpants. Then, he noticed her standing there and flushed pink. 

“That was fast,” he remarked shyly. “Are you sure you’re all clean?”

She nodded, feeling his eyes on her body.

“I’ve got some clothes for you,” he murmured. “Those are… not very good. Here.” 

Soul handed her the t-shirt and sweatpants he had dragged out of his dresser and she delicately took them. For a moment, she just held them, fingering the soft cotton as if she had never felt it before. Then, she set them down on the floor beside her feet and began to undress right in front of him, pulling the shirt off over her head. For a moment, he glimpsed her bare chest and the lashes that covered her breasts from the whip. Then, he snapped out of it.

“Wait!” Soul shouted, throwing out his hands. Then, abruptly, he closed the space between them.

She winced, waiting for whatever was to come—the violation, the beating, whatever he wanted to do to her—but he didn’t do anything bad to her. Quickly he scooped up the clothing he had given to her, pressed it against her naked chest, and shoved her back into the bathroom. Then, he grabbed the door and slammed it behind her. Stunned, she just stood there on the other side of the door for a moment, unable to think what had just happened. 

She reminded herself that it didn’t matter and stripped out of the rest of the stinking clothes from the warehouse and donned his t-shirt and sweatpants. She didn’t know what he was planning, but the clothes were soft and warm and smelled wonderful. She found that she really didn’t care. She enjoyed this small moment of happiness and tenderness. 

Soul shuddered, looking at his pale long-fingered hands. When he had touched her back… all he could feel were her ribs, every dig and bump and healed break. The column of her spine was pressing against her flesh as if it wanted to escape her body and her entire naked back was covered in vicious scars and the new marks from the lash of the whip. It was horrible. How could someone… do that to another human being? Unwillingly, he found himself wondering what she had done to deserve such a punishment. He shook himself roughly and turned away. It didn’t matter—she was his now.

She gathered up the clothing from the warehouse and exited the bathroom. Her new master was inflating an air-mattress in the corner of the room, making it up with sheets blankets and pillows. Who was going to sleep there? She stood silently, watching him nervously with the smelly clothes knotted in her hands.

He saw her and smiled faintly. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to just strip like that,” he explained. He eyed the clothes in her hands. “You can throw those out, okay?”

She nodded and did so. Then, she returned to the bedroom and stood there, waiting for some sort of orders. When he didn’t give her any and continued making up the bed as if she wasn’t even there, she didn’t know what to do. She came to kneel beside him and began tucking the sheets around the inflated air-mattress. 

“Oh,” he murmured and scratched the back of his head, but that was all he said.

She didn’t understand, so she just kept her mouth shut. It was best for a slave to be that way—silent, seen and not heard. Together, they finished making the bed and he took a step back. She remained kneeling beside the mattress. She didn’t know what he was going to do now. Had he set up this bed so he would have to use her body in his own?

“Umm,” he said softly. “You can get up.”

She rose like a puppet on strings, her legs shaking with the effort to support herself. 

He wet his lips. “Are you hungry?” he asked her.

She shook her head.

“Really?” he asked, his voice shocked.

She nodded.

“Oh… okay.”

Silence stretched between them. Strange, this new master of hers didn’t seem to know what to do with her. Maybe she was his first slave… If that was true, then maybe he wouldn’t know how to hurt her too badly. She chewed her lower lip, tasted blood from the ugly split there, and stopped.

“What’s your name?” he asked her.

“Whatever you want it to be, Master,” she said without hesitation.

He took a step back, shocked. “Don’t you… have a name?”

“You can call me whatever you want, Master,” she continued.

“But… don’t you have a real name? Your given name? You know, the one your parents gave you?”

She was silent.

“My name is Soul,” he said by way of explanation and introduction. “Soul Eater Evans.” 

Then, he held out his hand to her, intending to shake hands when he gave him her name, but she still didn’t tell him her name and did something rather unexpected. Instead, she knelt before him and gently clasped his hand and kissed the back of it. Then, she spread herself into a low graceless bow across the cold hardwood of his floor. There, just like that, she waited for something. He had no idea what.

“Please, just tell me your name,” he whispered.

“I do not have one,” she said.

“But… what do people call you?”

A shudder wracked her body. “Filth, whore, bitch, cunt—”

“Stop it!” he shouted.

She flinched.

Cautiously, he knelt beside her. “Doesn’t anyone ever call you anything… nice?”

“Pet,” she murmured.

Soul sighed and slid his crimson eyes to the file of papers he had received when Will had purchased her. Surely, her real name was written somewhere on those papers, right? He crossed the room, leaving her bowing on the floor, and opened the folder. It turned out to be rather extensive. There were a few medical records from a time when she had been hospitalized, a report of the venereal diseases she had (which thankfully, she didn’t have any), and a few facts and formalities like her age and blood type. There was documentation of all the masters she had had and why they had gotten rid of her. Soul leafed through the papers quickly, searching for her name. On the last page, when he was about to give up, he found it. 

Maka Albarn.

Smiling faintly to himself, he closed the folder and turned back to her. “Your name is Maka?” 

She jolted, a shiver of some unknown emotion going through her body. 

“Why wouldn’t you just tell me?” he asked her. 

“Because… I… I couldn’t remember,” she confessed.

He felt his eyes widen to the point of falling out of his skull. “You couldn’t remember your own name?”

She shook her head. 

“How is that possible?” he asked, not fully expecting an answer.

“It’s been… years since I heard it. It just… slipped from my mind…”

Soul looked at her trembling back, her bones pressing against the cotton shirt. What on earth had this girl been through? But the longer he looked at her, the more he began to decided that she hadn’t been through anything on earth. She had been through hell, plain and simple. The smooth jazz record playing in the background finished and silence reigned between them, stretched like a rubber band, until it finally snapped with a bang.

X X X

Questions, comments, concerns?

Review! Because I update so fast.


	7. Tsubaki's Conversation with Soul

It’s starting to get warm. Spring is in the air!

X X X

There was a sharp bang on Soul’s bedroom door that couldn’t quite be called a knock. He jumped, startled from his thoughts, and sent the papers flying all over the room like falling snow. A few settled on Maka’s head and shoulders, soaking up some of the moisture from her freshly washed hair. Soul brushed the papers from her body, helped her to her feet, and then went to answer the door.

Wes was standing there, his face pink and happy with the afterglow of plenty of sex, dressed in only his low-slung jeans. His bare chest was smooth and perfect and Soul bit back a small bubble of jealousy and resisted the urge to touch the scar on his chest. Just behind Wes, wearing a pale silken robe and clearly naked beneath it, was Blair. She gazed at Soul for a moment, her dead golden eyes going into his, but her eyes weren’t quite dead anymore. They were in pain, begging and beseeching him but for what he didn’t know.

“Hey Soul,” Wes said. “I see you’re back. Did you pick out a new slave? Can I meet her?”

Soul bit his lower lip, glancing over his shoulder at Maka. “Sure,” he said to his brother. Wes was busy with Blair and Soul didn’t want to make a big thing out of this by acting all defensive of a slave. He didn’t want another lecture about how slaves weren’t really people from Will. “This is Maka,” he told Wes.

Wes circled the girl like a vulture, smiling faintly. “She’s cute, but she’s so small. Are you sure she’ll be able to take your dick, Soul?”

Maka shuddered violently, her teeth digging into her lower lip. Blood welled up and ran down her chin, dripping onto the hardwood floor at her feet. Her small hands rolled into fists, trembling, and her knees knocked together. The poor girl… she was terrified.

“Wes!” Soul protested. He didn’t want his brother putting those ideas in her head.

“What?” Wes said, lifting his hands apologetically. “I don’t see why you would have given up a fox like Blair for a little twig like this. Is she a virgin or something?”

“Wes!” Soul protested again, glaring at his brother.

“What?” Wes whined out. “I was just saying—”

“Out!” Soul snapped at him, pointing stiff-armed towards the door. “Go on! You’re vulgar and crude.”

“Jeez. Sorry Soul,” Wes said.

“I know you are, but you’re gross. Go be gross somewhere else,” Soul said to his brother shortly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Wes said. He ducked back out of Soul’s room and grasped Blair’s ample breast through her robe. “Want to join us, little brother?”

“Out!” Soul barked at him.

Smirking, Wes closed the bedroom door behind them.

Soul sighed heavily and turned back to Maka. “I’m sorry about him. He’s…” He broke off, thinking. What was his brother exactly? A pig? But countless people had sex with their slaves. Wes was probably the normal one when it came to slaves. Soul was the weird one. He let his breath out in a rushing sigh. “Ah, I don’t even know,” he said finally.

Maka was still just standing there, blood dripping off her chin.

“Let’s take care of that,” Soul whispered and went into the bathroom. 

He got a jar of Vaseline from the medicine cabinet and a wad of tissues. He came to stand in front of her, but she made no move to lift her face to look at him. He gently put two fingers under her chin and lifted her head so he could see her damaged mouth. Her olive-green eyes went right into his soul, burning him. There was death in her face, but it wasn’t the death he had seen in Blair’s golden eyes. Blair’s eyes were dead, given up, empty. Maka’s eyes longed for death, for an end to this, to life, to everything. He stumbled backwards from her, shook his head to clear the images that assaulted him, and pulled himself together again.

She was watching him, curious but also afraid.

“Sorry,” he said softly and dabbed at the blood on her chin with the tissues. She winced as his fingers pressed in at the wound, but he didn’t seem to be intentionally hurting her. When he had gotten all the blood off her mouth, he dipped his finger into the Vaseline and gently smeared some onto the split on her lower lip. “This will make you feel better,” he said by way of explanation. Then, he wiped the rest of her blood off the hardwood floor and tossed the tissues in the trash.

She licked her lips curiously, but her face remained expressionless. 

“Maka, are you sure you’re not hungry?” he asked her.

“Yes Master,” she whispered.

Soul sighed. “If you say so…”

Maka silently wondered what kind of game he was playing with her. Didn’t he see her trembling? Couldn’t he see her starving body? Didn’t he know she was wasting away? Was he waiting for the moment she confessed her hunger so he could laugh in her face? But… his face was so soft and honest. Her instincts told her that he wasn’t playing with her, but her mind protested. All masters were cruel. They tormented and tortured her, they beat and raped and starved her, they hurt and teased and pleasured her—they were never kind.

“I… I’m going to go downstairs for a little while. You can stay here and listen to music or sleep or do whatever you want, okay?” Soul told her.

She nodded and bowed to him. “Yes Master.”

He wet his lips as if about to speak, thought better of it, closed his mouth, and left the bedroom. 

Maka was left standing there, trembling, unsure of what to do now. She was so weak, so tired… She slipped to her knees and rested there, studying her hands in her lap. This new hell? What would it be like? She looked around the room for something sharp to carve her wrist open, but there was nothing she could use to kill herself here. She hadn’t even seen a razor blade in the bathroom. Did he know about her attempted suicide? If he did, he probably wouldn’t be leaving her alone in his room.

…

Soul hustled downstairs, ignoring the sounds of Wes going at it with Blair again. Aurora and Will were no longer in the kitchen and the car wasn’t in the driveway. Maybe they had gone out… Will’s slave, Tsubaki, was standing at the sink doing the dishes and, since there was no chance Will would come into the kitchen and find them, Soul picked up the dish towel and began to dry the dishes as she washed them. A comfortable silence spread between them as smooth as fresh butter.

Tsubaki glanced at him from the corner of her eyes, her lips faintly curving with gratitude. Her long waist-length dark hair was plaited into a braid to keep it out of her face, her blue eyes darkened with pain, her face battered and bruises from Will’s hits, yet she still found the ability to smile at him. She was such a remarkable… slave.

Soul lowered his eyes, shamed by the very thought of thinking of her only as a slave.

“Is something wrong?” Tsubaki asked him softly.

He shook his head. “No, nothing,” he murmured.

She wet her lips. “How was… the warehouse?”

“Horrible.” He shuddered.

“But you managed to… choose someone, didn’t you?” Tsubaki asked him.

He nodded. “Yeah. She was being punished… They were whipping her and,” he hesitated, “pissing on her.”

“That’s horrible,” Tsubaki murmured. Her hands began to shake as she washed the dishes.

He plucked the dish from her fingers, dried it, and set it aside. “Has… anything like that ever happened to you, Tsubaki?”

She closed her eyes, a single tear leaking beneath her lashes. “Soul,” she breathed. “You’re so sweet, but you don’t realize how cruel people can be when they think you’re worth nothing.” She took in a shuddering breath. “It can be… beyond imagining.”

He gently laid his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

She shied away from his touch. “It’s not your fault.”

Soul let her stand there, trembling as the memories plagued her. Sometimes, all you needed was a moment to get through the hideous memories. He felt that way each and every morning after a bad night of nightmares. He put away the dishes and then gently touched her wrist, saying softly, “Tsubaki?”

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “Soul… I know you’re so afraid of death, but I…” She reached out to him, her fingertips just grazing the scar that bisected his chest beneath his shirt. “But I… there have been times where I longed for it above all else…”

Soul’s eyes widened and he stumbled back from her, stricken. Tears ran down her face and she folded her hands over her stomach. Did she had a scar there like he did? Quickly, before the death in her face could frighten him again, Soul wrapped his arms around Tsubaki’s tall thin body. She wasn’t as thin as Maka was, her body developed and lovely with nice curves. Her full breasts pressed against his chest, sending a race of pain through his scar, and he stroked her back soothingly. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered.

She clung to him, sobbing, for a long time.

Then, they heard the sound of the front door being opened. Aurora and Will were home. Quickly, Soul and Tsubaki separated themselves. Tsubaki went back to the dishes and Soul stuck his head into the fridge to hide the flush on his cheeks. He pulled out a bottle of water and took a quick drink just as Aurora and Will entered the kitchen.

“Hi sweetie,” Aurora said and kissed Soul on the cheek. “How was shopping?”

“Fine,” Soul said.

“He picked a nice girl,” Will supplied and took a beer out of the fridge, pinching Tsubaki’s ass as he passed her. “She’s as thin as a rail though.”

Aurora smiled at Soul gently. “We can get her something to eat, don’t worry, sweetie,” she said to him.

“But, she told me that she wasn’t hungry,” Soul said.

Tsubaki coughed loudly.

Aurora and Soul glanced at her and then at Will, but he wasn’t paying any attention to them. They both understood what Tsubaki’s loud cough meant—‘What are you stupid? Of course she’s hungry. She’s probably starving to death!’

“Tsubaki,” Soul said softly. “Would you make me a nice sandwich?”

“I’d be happy to,” she said.

Suddenly, Will’s hand caught her hard on the side of her face.

“Yes, Master,” Tsubaki croaked out instead.

“Will,” Aurora protested.

“Slave, honey,” was all he said to Aurora and slid Soul a meaningful look. Soul lowered his gaze, recalling the conversation they had had earlier today. Then, Will left the kitchen and Aurora hurried after her husband, glancing worriedly first at Tsubaki and then at her son.

Soul gently touched Tsubaki’s elbow. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “I wish… I wish I had a master like you, Soul…”

Soul’s heart skipped a few beats and then sputtered back to life with a jolt. He didn’t know what to say to Tsubaki’s soft confession so he just didn’t say anything at all. ‘If you cannot improve the silence, don’t speak’—words to live by.

X X X

I really like the way this chapter came out.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	8. Music and Food

Soul is such an interesting character. Normally I go for flat out kindness or a little bit of hatred, but he’s almost… afraid of his own slave. How strange… Ah well.

X X X

After the moment ended, Soul collected the sandwich Tsubaki had made him and hurried back upstairs. It was silent in the hallway. Wes must have been taking a break. Maka was asleep on the hardwood floor of Soul’s bedroom, curled up like a small animal with her arms wrapped tightly around herself and her legs gathered against her chest. She looked peaceful, maybe even just barely happy, in her sleep and he was loathe to wake her.

Soul set the sandwich and soda down on the nightstand, gathered her skeleton-thin body up in his arms, and settled her down on the air-mattress. He covered her up and smoothed her pale ash-blonde hair back from her face. She whimpered, flinching even in her sleep beneath his hand. He withdrew his touch, pulled the curtains closed, set a record in the phonograph so that soft jazz fill the dim room, and left her to sleep in peace. 

Little did he know that Maka wasn’t really asleep.

She had been asleep until she heard the door open and his footsteps on the hardwood. She lay there, pretending she was still asleep because it had often alerted her to the true intentions of a master. When they thought she was sleeping, sometimes, they talked about what they were going to do to her, but her new master was silent. She heard him set something down and then come towards her. She forced herself to maintain the façade of sleep. 

But he didn’t hurt her. Gently, he gathered her up in his arms and cradled her, lifting her gently from the cold floor. He held her body like she was worth something, like he didn’t want to hurt her, like she was actually… human. He set her down on the air-mattress and pulled up the sheets and blankets to cover her, enveloping her in the sweet scent of cleanliness. She had almost forgotten what a bed felt like, what blankets felt like, what tenderness felt like… 

She was so lost in the sensations that his touch shocked her. His fingers were warm and soft, pushing the tangled strands of hair back from her face. She whimpered and flinched out of habit and he surprisingly withdrew his touch. That had never happened before. Normally, the touches continued until they were finished with her body and had broken her soul into little pieces. But she listened to his footsteps crossing the room to put on a record and then he left.

Maka sat up, the covers falling from her shoulders, and looked around the dimly-lit bedroom uninhibited. The room was lovely with its ensuite bathroom and there was a half-open walk-in closet in one corner of the room. A large window seat with several pillows and a discarded book look perfectly inviting. He had a desk littered with papers, a phonograph resting on a table beside it, and there were countless records arranged on a bookcase in the corner. Her master had a massive four-poster bed made up with silk sheets and a down comforter. 

Her new master had pulled the curtains and put on a soothing record and there was a sandwich sitting on the nightstand. The sight of the food teased and tormented her so she immediately tore her eyes away. Other than the painful sight of food, it seemed as if her new master fully intended to let her sleep—alone and unmolested. She was even sleeping on a real bed… She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept on anything other than the cold concrete floor.

In bliss, she lay back down and snuggled beneath the covers. The pillows smelled wonderful and the blankets were like heaven, the air-mattress cradling her beaten body, and the clean clothing she was wearing was perfect. She had even gotten a nice warm shower. Whatever he expected from her for this kind treatment, she wondered if it was going to be worth it. Maybe, if she took the initiative, he would be less likely to beat and rape her. 

Maybe, she would try that.

…

Soul spent the rest of the day in his family’s music room. 

It was a beautiful room with a black-and-white tiled floor, thick red velvet drapes, and a few chaise lounges. In the center of the room was his Broadwood and Sons piano, gleaming its rich glossy black. Soul didn’t often have music in the stand, but there was a sheaf of pieces he composed himself waiting patiently on the piano bench. He selected one and began to play. Before he knew it, night had fallen outside the windows and Tsubaki came calling him for dinner.

“I didn’t even realize,” he murmured and lowered the fall over the ivory and ebony keys. 

Tsubaki smiled at him. “It’s beautiful music,” she said.

“Thanks. I wrote it myself.”

“You have such talent,” she murmured. 

Soul smiled at her in return and followed her into the dining room. Will, Aurora, and Wes were already sitting at the table. Wes looked like he had been drained of all bodily fluids, his face pale and exhausted. Will was grinning, but Aurora only looked disgusted. She smiled at Soul when he entered the dining room.

“Your playing is so beautiful, Soul,” Aurora complimented him.

“Thanks Mom,” he said with a smile as Tsubaki began bringing in their dinner.

“So, Wes,” Will interjected, “It seems you’re enjoying Soul’s birthday present.”

“Oh yeah,” Wes said. “She’s fantastic.”

Will slid his eyes to Soul. “You missed out, kid. She could have been yours.”

“That’s alright,” Soul said and picked at the chicken on his plate.

“So, how’s your little twig?” Wes asked his brother.

Soul glowered at him. “She’s sleeping.”

“Alone?”

“Wes,” Aurora snapped.

“Yes, alone,” Soul ground out.

“Huh,” was all Wes had to say.

The Monroes née Evans finished eating dinner in relative silence. The conversations stayed away from slaves and sex. After dinner, Soul had Tsubaki make up a plate for Maka and brought it upstairs to his room. Distressingly, Wes hadn’t brought anything up for Blair. Maka was still sleeping on the air-mattress, her face smooth and peaceful if not just a little bruised. Soul set down the tray of dinner beside the untouched sandwich and gently grasped her shoulder. It didn’t take more than a small shake to wake her.

For one heart-stopping moment, her olive-green eyes went right into his, but then she swiftly looked away. “Yes Master?”

“I brought you up some dinner,” he said and since he hated people watching him while he ate, he added, “You can eat while I jump in the shower. Okay?”

“Yes Master.”

Soul gathered up his pajamas, changed the record in the phonograph, and ducked into the bathroom. He kept his eyes on his feet as he peeled off his shirt, not wanting to look at the scar that marred his chest. It felt wonderful to shower, the tension washing out of his shoulders and almost all of his troubles swirling away down the drain. He made sure to take longer than usual so that Maka would have time to eat everything he had left for her. He took even longer dressing in his pajamas and she had eaten everything by the time he exited the bathroom.

“Was it good?” he asked her.

She nodded silently. 

“I’m going to go back downstairs. You can sleep or shower or do whatever you want, okay?”

She nodded again.

Soul scuttled out of the room. Normally, his bedroom felt like his sanctuary, but with her in there… it felt foreign and strange. Normally, he spent the time after dinner in his room, listening to records and writing music, but he didn’t want to be there now. He returned to the music room and spent the rest of the night playing the piano until his shoulders ached and his eyes were drooping closed. Only then did he find the courage to return to his own bedroom.

X X X

This was just a bit of a filler chapter to get us into the next one which I love. Maka’s going to try something bad… What does everyone think it is?

Questions, comments, concerns?


	9. Words in the Night

I’m so tired and it’s so windy here. I feel like the house is just going to blow away.

X X X

Maka was pretending to sleep, curled up on the air-mattress in the corner of her master’s room, just waiting for him to come back to the room. Finally, he did. His footsteps soft as if he was being careful not to wake her. He went into the bathroom, brushed his teeth and got ready for bed, and she listened to him as he slipped into his own bed. For what felt like eternity, he tossed and turned noisily between the sheets and then finally stilled. 

It was then that she put her plan into action.

Soul just couldn’t fall asleep. He was worried. What if he woke up with a nightmare in the middle of the night? What if Maka heard him crying out in his sleep? What if the record he played in the middle of the night woke her up? He pushed all those thoughts away. As Will would have said, she was only a slave and whether or not she got a good night’s sleep didn’t matter. Finally, those thoughts rolling around in his tormented skull, he settled down.

Maka was silent and still on the air-mattress in the corner of his room.

Soul closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to settle his nerves. His fingers traced the path of the scar on his chest, sending white-hot stabs of pain through his body, and forced himself to stop. He lay on his back and the edges of sleep enveloped him tightly in its warm arms. Nightmares seemed distant. Maybe it was having another person in the bedroom with him or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe tonight was going to be a good night without nightmares. 

He could hope, couldn’t he?

Maka silently slithered from between the covers of her borrowed bed and made her way through the shadows of the bedroom to the foot of her new master’s bed. She could make out the shape of his body in the dimness, the sheets pressing against his chest and lying with perfect smoothness. Cautiously, she untucked the sheets from the bottom of his bed and carefully pulled them up to expose his feet. Then, she grasped them and gently began to work her thumbs into the soles of his feet.

Soul woke with a start.

Someone was touching him!

He peered through his lashes at the foot of his bed. He prayed it wasn’t the man at the foot of his bed, the signal of death, and it wasn’t. It was his new slave, Maka, gently massaging the soles of his feet. He wanted to stop her, but it just felt so good. He went limp in her hands, like putty, and she worked the tension from his body with expert touches and caresses. Her massage traveled from his feet up his calves and onto his thighs. 

She was on the bed by now, straddling his legs. Her hands followed the curvature of his ribcage, massaging the muscles of his sides and travelling lightly across his stomach. As if she sensed his scar, she didn’t touch his chest and began to work her thumbs into his aching shoulders. She massaged his neck and ran her fingers through his silvery hair. Then, she began traveling back down his body, massaging the places she had massaged a moment before.

He was nearly asleep, so relaxed by her touches that he didn’t immediately react when she slipped her hands beneath the waistband of his pajama pants and cautiously gripped his member. She sobbed softly, a cry that she stifled almost immediately before it had a chance to disturb her master. At the first stroke of her small hands though, he jolted into realization of what was happening. 

She was… trying to jerk him off! 

What was she thinking? 

“Whoa! Stop!” Soul shouted and lurched upright in the bed, throwing her backwards, and she crashed into one of the posters of his bed in the darkness. He rolled over and quickly turned on the bedside lamp and put a pillow in his lap. “W-what are you doing?” he demanded of her.

She was staring at him, her face pale and stricken, her olive eyes wide with crystalline tears gathered in the corners. For a moment, she stared at him and pressed a hand to her back. When he had pushed her off, her back had collided with the poster of his bed. It had probably hurt the wounds she already had there from the… punishment and whipping.

“Did I hurt you?” he whispered and reached out for her.

She shied away from his touch, shaking her head.

“What were you thinking?” he asked her.

She didn’t respond, only licked at the split in her lip nervously.

“You can tell me. Please,” Soul murmured.

“I was… trying to pleasure you, Master.”

His eyes widened. “Why?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“No!” he protested.

Maka stared at him, her olive-green eyes doubtful and distrusting.

“Listen,” he began. 

Gently, he touched her shoulders, rubbing his thumbs across the skull-like bones of her shoulders. He looked into her dark eyes. There was profound suffering in the depths of her gaze. He saw so much pain and misery and betrayal and that longing for death once again. He realized that the words he said to her would probably mean nothing. She had almost certainly been lied to and betrayed more times than he cared to know and she cared to remember. He bit his lower lip nervously. 

“I don’t know if you’ll believe me when I say this, but I’m not… like everyone else who’s… owned you,” he said softly.

She turned her face away, a her mouth twisting into a pained line. Soul cautiously reached out and cupped her face in his hands, his fingers following the curve of her jaw. The collar that marked her as a slave wrapped tightly around her throat was cold against his fingers. She struggled against him for a moment, but finally allowed him to lift her gaze to meet his own. His crimson gaze was the color of old blood, so dark, but as comforting as the eyes of the Reaper had been.

“I’m not like my brother… or my stepfather either,” Soul continued quietly. “I didn’t even really want a slave, but yesterday was my birthday and Will wanted me to have one… It’s tradition.” He glanced out the window at the night beyond. He laughed hollowly, brokenly, feeling the night and the darkness pressing down on his soul. “You probably don’t believe a word I’m saying, but that’s okay,” he told her. “I understand.”

His warm hands slipped from her face down to her shoulders again and gently held her fragile body in his cupped palms. For some reason, Maka found herself wanting to believe the words her new master was saying. His face was so pale, so handsome, his blood-colored eyes like the Reaper’s and touched with the pain of death, that she just wanted to trust him. She closed her eyes and forced those thoughts away. 

She had trusted before. 

She had believed before, foolishly. 

And she always came away betrayed and hurt.

She was not going to set herself up for the disappointment and pain by believing these pretty lies once again. This time, she would wait until he trusted her and left something sharp and deadly out for her to get her hands on. Then, she would take her own life and this hell would be over. It would finally all be over.

“I understand,” Soul said again. “You don’t have to believe me. But… I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to… rape you. Alright?” He gently brushed some pale hair behind her ear. “You can go back to bed now, okay?”

She nodded, slipped off the bed, and he heard her whimper softly in pain. Her back must really hurt. Maybe she had an infection from being pissed on. She lay down on the air-mattress, pulling the sheets and blankets up over her body and pretending to sleep. Soul was awake for much longer, lying awake as if he had just had a nightmare. Finally, he too managed to pretend to sleep and pretending often gave way to the truth.

Then, there was a cry in the night.

X X X

Ah, another cliffhanger. Sort of…

Questions, comments, concerns?


	10. The Blank Message

**Zrathus:** What a nice review. I’ll admit that there are some cliché parts to this story, but I’ll get outside the box in a few more chapters. Just needed something to get the ball rolling. The rest of the gang will be showing up a lot later in the story—some things need t happen first. Just wait for it, it’s coming.

And for everyone else, I meant to update earlier, but my job ate my life. The elevator broke so everyone there had to rush around like chickens with our heads cut off and then they had everybody stay for a bunch of extra hours. It was crazy and by the time I got home, I just needed a nap.

X X X

For a moment, Maka slept right through the cry. She was so used to hearing sounds like that—screams of pain, whimpers of agony, sobbing, crying… But when it came again, somehow, it roused her from her slumber. The air-mattress was so comfortable and she was so warm, her belly contentedly full, that she wondered what on earth could have woken her. She often slept like the dead. She sat up, clutching the covers close to her chest nervously. 

Regardless of the fact that she had promised herself that she wouldn’t believe the words her new master had said, she was suddenly afraid that he really would hurt her. Biting her lip, she forced her mind to come to terms with the fact that he probably would beat and rape her at some point. There was no point in fearing it.

It was going to happen.

Maka peered through the darkness of the bedroom. The moon hung in the sky, a beautiful silvery disk, and the sky was ink-black, speckled with diamond stars like tears. Suddenly, sharply, the cry came again in the darkness and she whipped her head in the direction of the sound. 

It was… 

Her master was crying out in the night.

Soul was snarled in the covers of his bed, fighting against them as if they sought to imprison him within the mattress. He tossed his head, silver hair feathering against the pillows like fallen starlight. His mouth opened to show his sharp teeth as another cry escaped him. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, a single tear making a slow path down his cheek and disappearing into his hair. Then, one hand reached up to grip a fistful of his pajama top and he gasped out again as if in pain.

Then, with a sharp scream, he lurched up in his bed, panting.

Maka quickly flattened herself down against the air-mattress, pretending that she was still sleeping.

Soul pressed his hands to his face, panting for breath. Finally, his heart stopped pounding and the scar that bisected his chest stopped throbbing. He flopped back against the pillows and stared up at the ceiling, trying to keep his breathing deep and even. 

He glanced over at Maka. She was cocooned in the blankets, still sleeping soundly.

For that he was grateful. 

But… now what?

Normally, after the nightmare woke him, he put on a record and listened to it in the darkness. Sometimes, he managed to fall back asleep. Most times, he didn’t. But with Maka sleeping in his room with him, he wasn’t sure if he could play music. What if he woke her up?

Soul sighed heavily, weighing his options.

She could probably sleep right through the music if he played it at a low volume. She was a slave after all and was probably used to sleeping through much louder sounds. She had managed to sleep right through is nightmare, after all.

Soul swung his legs out of his bed, padded across the room in the darkness, and put a record on the phonograph. He lingered beside the record player, his hand resting on the fantastically ornate bronze horn, as the first notes of his favorite jazz record filled the room. The record… His mother told him that it used to be his father’s. She had also told him that Soul had his father’s taste in music—smooth jazz and swing orchestra, music that told a story, music that was somehow twisted and dark but still so beautiful.

“Dad,” Soul whispered to the darkness of the night.

No one answered.

His father was dead.

Soul returned to his comfortable four-poster bed, slipped beneath the cool covers, and lay awake listening to the music until the sun peeked in through his bedroom window and it was time to get up. The morning was butter-yellow and cloudless, perfect.

Soul decided to let Maka sleep after what had happened between them the night before. She probably had only been pretending to sleep so that she could… surprise him when he finally nodded off. Soul ducked into the bathroom to shower and dress, not wanting to give Maka any reason to think he was anything like his brother or stepfather. By the time he came out in a waft of scented steam, she had made up both their beds and was kneeling in front of the window, looking out. 

Soul glanced out the window and saw that Tsubaki was out in the garden, raking leaves. She looked beautiful this morning. The bruises on her pale face were fading, her long obsidian hair plaited into a braid and threaded with a few rust-colored leaves, and she was even smiling as she worked. Soul felt his own lips curve in response to Tsubaki’s small happiness.

Soul turned his blood-colored eyes to his new slave, to Maka. Her ash-blonde hair was loose and mussed from sleep, her olive-green eyes shadowed and watching him surreptitiously, and she nervously licked at the bloody split in her lower lip. Her right arm, wrapped tightly in bandages, attracted his eyes. What was that from? Was she hurt? She slipped her hand over the bandages as if she could feel his eyes on her arm, but didn’t make another move to pull away or hide.

Soul pulled his eyes away, his gaze falling on Tsubaki. “Do you know Tsubaki?” he asked Maka.

She jolted, her olive-green eyes meeting his for just a split second, and then slamming to the floor. She shook her head, shoulder-length hair curtaining her face. “No, Master,” she said.

Soul wasn’t exactly certain of how he was supposed to go about his day with a slave at his heels. He had barely made it through yesterday and he clearly couldn’t just leave her in his bedroom all day again. She needed something to do. Maybe he could talk to Tsubaki and find out if Maka could help her with the chores Will gave her or something. He would have to think of something to do with Maka until Thanksgiving Break was over and school started again. Then things would be at least a little simpler.

“Let’s just go downstairs and get some breakfast,” Soul said finally.

“Yes, Master,” she said softly.

Soul sighed, opened the door, and collided full-on with Blair in the hallway. She stumbled back, fell over her long legs, and crashed down in a heap just at the top of the stairs. Another inch and she would have gone tumbling down them. Her head knocked into the wall and she groaned in pain. Blair was no longer wearing the fake cat ears and tail, just clad in Wes’s white silk robe. Her nipples were visible through the thin fabric and her thighs were smeared with white wetness.

“Ah!” Soul gasped. “I’m sorry. Are you alright, Blair?” He offered her his hand and her golden eyes were so dark. They looked even closer to death than they had the night Soul found her waiting in his bedroom trussed up in ribbons. “Let me help you up.”

Cautiously, she took his hand.

Her fingers were like ice against his warm palm. Soul helped her up and pulled down the robe to cover her thighs. She tucked some violet hair behind her ear and looked at him through her lashes with her dead golden eyes. He wished there was something he could do to help her, but… she was Wes’s slave now, not his. 

Blair gazed at him hopelessly for a moment. Then, the threw herself at him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his crotch, clinging to him desperately. “Help me, Master, please, help me. I was yours. Please, take me back,” she begged him. 

Soul pushed her back and held her at arm’s length, his thumbs gently rubbing circles on her shoulders. “Blair, there’s nothing I can do for you. You belong to Wes now and I…” he hesitated. “I have Maka…”

Blair glanced at Maka with those golden eyes and the girl took a step back nervously, clasping her hands together in front of her tightly. Then, Blair turned away from Soul and walked down the stairs with a clearly pronounced limp. What had Wes been doing to her sealed up in his bedroom for so long? Especially that she would risk speaking in order to beg Soul to help her?

“Follow me,” Soul said to Maka softly.

Aurora and Will often slept late, Wes had sent Blair down for breakfast, and Tsubaki was outside raking the fallen November leaves in the backyard. The house was dark and quiet, peaceful, and for some reason Soul felt as if he was still dreaming, snuggled safe and asleep in his bed. Blair ducked past him, her head lowered and her face hidden behind her thick violet hair, and hurried back upstairs to Wes’s bedroom. The door slammed shut loudly, echoing.

Soul raked his hand through his hair and ushered Maka into the kitchen. Since he wasn’t much of a cook, he said to her, “Why don’t you make us something? Anything you want, alright?”

She nodded. “Yes Master.”

Soul ducked out of the kitchen and that was when he saw it. The front door had a mail slot and lying just in front of the door was a plain white envelope with his name on it. Curious and also unnerved, Soul picked up the envelope and scrutinized it. 

There was no return address and no indication of who had sent it to him. Who could be sending him mail? Soul slipped his finger under the flap and tore it open. A single sheet of paper slid out into his hand. He turned it over and over, looking for something, but the page was completely blank. Soul shuddered, crumpled both the paper and the envelope, and threw both in the trash.

X X X

Ah, the plot begins to thicken.

Questions, comments, concerns?

Review!


	11. Treatment of Slaves?

Wah, life is so crazy.

X X X

Maka prepared her new master an omelet with bacon and cheese, positioning it on the plate so that it looked pretty. Presentation was everything. He had told her to make something for both of them, but she doubted he was serious. He was probably going to take whatever she made away from her so she didn’t put much effort into her own breakfast. She prepared herself two pieces of toast without butter and carried both plates out into the small breakfast nook. 

Her new master was standing at the trash can, his blood-colored eyes focused out the window. The soft morning light was playing on the planes of his face. He looked pale and just a little bit rattled, but she didn’t ask him why. Instead, she told him that breakfast was ready and waited patiently with her hands folded behind her back. 

He jolted, whirling to face her, and then smiled softly at her. “Thanks.”

All she was could think was that he had teeth like a shark. How badly would it hurt if he were to bite her nipples or the insides of her thighs? Those teeth… they looked like knives. She shuddered at the thought and pulled out his chair for him before seating herself across from him at the table. She waited for him to start eating before daring to venture a bite of her dry toast. With difficulty, she swallowed. Her throat was dry and felt like sandpaper.

Soul was watching her from the corner of his blood-colored eyes. “That’s all you wanted? Dry toast?”

“Yes Master.”

“Well… okay…” 

He chewed the corner of his mouth, thinking about the strange blank piece of paper he had received. It was so strange. Who had sent it to him? There was no reason for him to be acquiring death threats. It wasn’t like he was famous. His family was well-off, but not rich. There seemed no rhyme or reason to it.

The back door opened and Tsubaki stepped in, brushing some loose hair off her forehead with a sigh. “Good morning Soul,” she said to him cheerfully.

“Hey Tsubaki,” Soul said. “I don’t suppose you noticed anyone slipping something in through the mail slot this morning, did you?”

“No, sorry,” she said softly. “I was raking leaves.”

“I know. You did great job,” Soul told her and glanced up the stairs. The house was quiet and still—everyone was probably still asleep. “Have you eaten, Tsubaki?”

In answer, her stomach growled loudly and she pressed both hands over it.

“Go ahead and grab something to eat. If someone comes downstairs, I’ll drop my fork on the floor,” Soul explained.

She smiled, her blue eyes soft and grateful. “Thank you, Soul. You’re a good person,” she said and then ducked into the kitchen to make herself a quick breakfast.

Maka had frozen with the toast half-way to her mouth. Her new master? A good person? What was this? Some kind of torturous act? Had he threatened that slave Tsubaki to say that so he could try to earn Maka’s trust and then tear her apart from the inside out? That seemed like an awful lot of effort though… Even so, people had gone farther out of their way to hurt her. She eyed him suspiciously as he turned his attention back to his breakfast, alert for the sounds of anyone stirring upstairs. But the house remained silent for several minutes. 

Then, suddenly, it was broken by Blair screaming.

…

Tsubaki supposed that she had had a last name at one time, but she couldn’t remember it now. She couldn’t remember her family or anything of her life before she had become a slave. Maybe she had always been a slave. Maybe she had been born into this hellish life. 

If she could have one wish (wishing not to be a slave excluded), she would have wished to have been Soul Evans’ slave. 

Soul was so kind and sweet. He played the piano and he treated her like she was a real person. Aurora was kind to Tsubaki, but she still looked down her nose at the young slave. Soul, on the other hand, looked Tsubaki in the eye when he spoke to her and smiled for her. He went out of his way to help her out, to try to protect her from Will and Wes, to feed her and make sure she got a hot shower every so often. Sometimes, he even told Will that he needed his room cleaned so that Tsubaki could sleep in his bed for a few meager hours.

Soul was a sweetheart, but he had been hurt so badly by life. He almost had the soul of a slave himself.

It was the accident that had claimed his father’s life when Soul was only seven. The accident had scarred Soul badly, most mentally and physically. He never told Tsubaki about it, but sometimes she heard him crying out in the night and then soft jazz music filling his bedroom. He suffered from nightmares, just like she did.

Only he couldn’t seem to escape his.

Tsubaki could escape hers by working until she was exhausted. Then, she slept like the dead and without dreams. She sighed softly, thinking of Soul’s exhausted tormented face when he emerged from his room each morning, and took a bite of the toast with jelly she had prepared for herself. Soul was such a nice person. He didn’t deserve to suffer.

…

The sound of Blair’s shrill scream shattered through the house. Soul immediately jumped out of his skin, his fork clattering down on his plate. Maka ducked her head, wincing empathetically. She wondered what her new master would do now that another slave was in pain. Tsubaki came out of the kitchen, her deep blue eyes pleading.

“Let’s go!” Soul said to Maka. 

Then, he raced up the stairs with Maka on his heels. She seemed eager to help, but Tsubaki was forced to hang back. If Will caught her upstairs, he would beat her black and green. Soul hurled his brother’s bedroom door open with a crash, guns blazing, but froze in the threshold, unable to speak or breathe. Maka had seen it before and wasn’t shocked. She lowered her eyes, feeling Blair’s pain.

Wes had her on her hands and knees on the hardwood floor, plowing into her from behind. Tears were rolling down her face, her nails raking desperately into the hardwood, and Wes had silenced her screaming by stuffing his fingers into her open mouth. By the expression on her face, in her dead golden eyes, Wes was fucking her asshole without any sort of preparation. Even sex slaves needed a little lube and tenderness. Their bodies were only human, after all.

“Wes!” Soul shouted.

Wes grinned at him. “Hey Soul,” he said between grunts as he thrust into Blair’s body. “Want to join me? You can take her pussy.”

“What is wrong with you?” Soul shouted. “You’re hurting her!”

“And?” Wes asked.

“Yes, Soul,” Will’s voice rang out. “And?”

Soul whirled to face his stepfather, bottling Maka up behind the safety of his back. He didn’t know why he was suddenly afraid for her. 

Will was staring at him, arms folded over his chest, ever patient for Soul’s explanation. Aurora was standing just behind her husband, her crimson gaze soft and sorrowful. But she didn’t look like she was feeling sorrow for a beaten human being. She looked like she was thinking about an animal. It was something Soul had never really noticed before. He had always thought that he and his mother were one in the same, similar, but he could see the difference in them now.

“Well?” Will asked.

Blair whimpered in agony, her cries mingled with Wes’s grunts of pleasure.

“Why don’t you close the door, sweetheart?” Aurora put in.

Soul and Will were caught in a stand-off, staring at each other.

Aurora bit her lip. “You, slave, shut the door.”

Maka grasped the knob and pulled it closed silently. Blair cried out desperately as if this was her last chance to be rescued from her new sexual torture. With the door shut, the sounds of Wes fucking her were muted and then slowly silenced. No one was going to save Blair from Wes.

“Well?” Will said again.

Soul wet his lips nervously, trying to think of some plausible excuse. “Well, she’s… She was screaming. I thought he was really hurting her.”

“And?”

He bit his lower lip, sharp teeth digging in. “That’s… I just… I wanted to…”

“Soul,” Will said. “She’s only a slave. Not only that, but she’s Wes’s slave, not yours. It’s none of your concern what he does to his new little slut.” He put his hand down on Soul’s shoulder and gaze him a small squeeze and a shake. “Understand?”

Soul nodded. “I’ll just… head back to my room,” he said.

“Good.”

Aurora tried to touch Soul’s arm as he passed her, but he pulled away from his mother for the first time in years. He and his mother had always been close until he realized the expression in her strawberry eyes—how she looked at slaves as if they were animals. He didn’t want her to touch him, not when she was busy siding with Will over how Wes was treating Blair. 

“Follow me,” he said to Maka. He quickly grasped her hand, his warm fingers inadvertently threading with hers. He didn’t want to give Will a chance to grab her or anything. 

Sensing something in her new master’s touch, Maka followed swiftly after him and he tucked them both into the safety of his bedroom. There, he leaned against the door and sighed heavily. Then, he pressed his long fingers to his eyes and Maka saw a single tear slide down his pale cheek. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and it was as if it never was. 

Maybe she had imagined it. 

He couldn’t really have a heart… could he?

X X X

I just realized all the “W”s in this family. Will and Wes, Wes and Will, Will and Wes. Jeez, I’m normally more careful than that. I hate it when I have two characters with the same first letter in their name in one story. Oh well, too late to change it now. I’m stuck this way now!

Questions, comments, concerns?


	12. The Calm Before

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day!

X X X

Will Monroe took his wife back to their marriage bed. If Will had been alone when the screaming started, he probably wouldn’t have even gotten out of bed. But Aurora worried about everything and insisted on checking it out. Now, after seeing Soul, Will was glad they had.

“Aurora, something has to be done about your son,” he told his wife.

She sighed, shrugging out of her silk robe. “Soul just… cares.”

“They’re slaves. He shouldn’t care about them.”

“I know, dear, but to Soul they’re not slaves. They’re…” She chewed her lip, thinking. “They’re pets.”

“Pets?” he repeated.

“Yes, like a dog or a cat,” Aurora explained.

“Still…”

Will reclined against the pillows, watching her as she sashayed across the bedroom in her silken nightgown. She really was beautiful, her hair like starlight and her eyes like ripe strawberries and her skin like fresh cream. She leaned over Will’s body, her breasts brushing against him, and kissed his lips.

“I’ll talk to him, dear,” she purred.

“I’ve already talked to him,” Will said. He was finding it rather hard to concentrate with Aurora’s breasts pressed against his chest. “I think we need to do more than talk to him.”

Aurora kissed his neck, nipping and sucking with her teeth. She wanted to distract him. She wanted this conversation to be over. Just let Wes be Wes and Soul be Soul. But Will wasn’t letting it go, even as she ran his hands over the tightness in his boxers.

“Let’s have a party tomorrow night,” Will said between grunts of pleasure. “His slave and Wes’s slut will serve dinner. I’m sure something will happen and then I can show him how slaves are truly meant to be treated.”

Aurora engulfed him in her mouth as a last ditch effort to stop this runaway train.

Will tangled his hands in her hair, guiding her pace. “I like that plan,” he said. “What do you think, honey?”

But Aurora’s mouth was full of his erection and she couldn’t answer. If she had been able to, she would have tried one more time to get her husband to lay off the subject of Soul and his slave. Just… let her Soul be Soul and do as he pleased with the slave he owned.

…

A few hours later, Aurora knocked on Soul’s bedroom door, unsure if he could hear her over the smooth jazz floating from his phonograph. It was his father, Dante’s, favorite record and the corners of her eyes prickled with tears. It had been ten years since Dante’s death, but still…

“Soul?” she asked.

He opened the door and offered her a small smile between the door and the jamb. “Hey Mom.”

“Sweetie, about what happened earlier—”

Across the hall as if on cue, Blair let out a small shriek of pain.

Soul winced. “He’s really hurting her, Mom,” he said softly.

“I know, Soul, but… she’s only a slave.”

Soul stared at her, his blood-colored eyes hard. “Don’t you care?”

“Of course I do… it’s just…” she trailed off.

“You care more about Will and you won’t risk pissing him off. Even if he’s a bastard.”

Aurora glared at her son. “Watch your language, Soul.”

He didn’t say anything, just continued to look at her. She felt dissected by that gaze, as if Soul suddenly knew all her secrets, as if he knew her darkest heart. For the first time, Aurora agreed with Will. Something had to be done about Soul. He was too… different from the rest of society.

“Soul, tomorrow night we’re having a party.”

“Alright.”

“Your slave is going to act as a server.”

“But—”

“End of discussion, young man.”

Soul lowered his lashes. “Sure, Mom. I understand.” 

Then, without another word, he closed the door in her face and leaned against it with a heavy sigh. Maka was sitting on her air-mattress in the corner of the room, staring at her hands in her lap. Soul sat on his own bed and groaned, running his hands through his silvery hair. He explained to Maka what his mother and stepfather had planned, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen. Maybe it was just the sensation of the strange blank letter hanging over his head.

…

Wes had finished with Blair and had left her lying, used and spent, on his cold hardwood floor. He had spent so much time doing her pussy that she had become so loose it wasn’t even pleasurable any more. Her ass was so tight it was almost virginal and she had screamed when he plowed into her. 

Stupid Soul had come charging upstairs like a knight in shining armor to see what had happened.

Soul was just… Ever since their father’s death ten years ago, he had been different.

Wes sighed and glanced at Blair’s body. She was so sexy, but now he had used and abused every inch of her and he was bored. He wanted something new, something different, something tight. The face of Soul’s new slave came back to him. She wasn’t pretty and she didn’t have any tits to speak of, but hey, she was new and different. Her body was so small that she would probably be tighter than Blair’s asshole. But there was no way Soul would let him at her and Will probably wouldn’t stand for it either. 

Well, he could always have a go at Tsubaki. Will wouldn’t mind. 

Wes grinned and ducked into the ensuite bathroom to shower. Tomorrow night, his parents were throwing a party. Maybe he could land a real girl to have sex with instead of just boning a slave. Yeah, that would be nice. Across the hall, Soul started playing jazz music. He played that damn record as often as Wes fucked Blair. 

“Let it go, Soul,” Wes grumbled to himself. “Slaves aren’t really people and Dad’s dead.”

…

Maka watched her new master pace the length of his bedroom, head ducked, eyes dark. She was exhausted and the comfortable air-mattress beneath her was lulling her into a sleepy state. All she wanted was to lie down and sleep, but she didn’t quite dare. She was waiting for the second sword to fall. So far, her master had been kind… enough. He had fed her and given her a hot shower, but she knew it was coming. She had been fooled before and it wasn’t something she wanted to go through again.

She watched him, her eyes growing heavier and heavier.

He was so busy pacing. Maybe she could rest for just a little while and he wouldn’t notice. And he had been kind so far… She ripped apart that thought and burned it. She was tired and her mind was playing tricks on her. She just needed a little sleep. Her body throbbed, her gored arm ached, and she was beaten to her bones. But her belly was full for the first time in what felt like years. It would be so nice to just sleep, unmolested and alone with blankets and on an air-mattress…

Soul stopped pacing when he heard the soft thump. 

His slave had slumped over on her bed, her face smooth with exhaustion and she was breathing deeply and evenly. Her face was cute, even beaten like this, and he wished there was something he could do to heal her lip. It looked like it really hurt. Well, a little rest and some food and she’d be okay soon. He pulled the covers up over her and she moaned softly in her sleep. It sounded a little like someone’s name, but he let it go. What did it matter anyway?

X X X

Kind of a lame chapter because I wasn’t paying attention and got myself trapped in a filler. I really only wanted the conversation with Aurora and Will. Oopsy… Oh well, I’m a master of making my little mistakes work. I like the way this chapter came out.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	13. The Storm Party: Pt I

Everyone should check me out on Youtube. I’ve made a few videos for Soul Eater and I think they came out pretty good.

And Fanfiction is acting all wonky and won’t send emails to my inbox. It’s annoying.

X X X

Soul adjusted his tie in front of the full length mirror attached to the back of his bedroom door with a sigh. He didn’t think he was particularly attractive on a day to day basis, but he did clean up to at least an eight on a scale of one to ten, if he did say so himself. His formal suit was pinstriped, the shirt underneath it a color of blood to match his crimson eyes, and the tie was striped black-on-black. The suit hugged the curve of his ribs and lay tight across his hips. With a heavy sigh, he put on his black shoes to match the suit and pushed his hair back from his face.

“Ready?” he asked his new slave gingerly.

Maka looked uncomfortable and, in her position, he would have been too. Will insisted that she and Blair wear matching maid uniforms to serve the party tonight. While Blair looked like every man’s wet dream in her outfit, it was hanging off of Maka’s skeleton-thin body. The skirt was grievously short and the ruffled top hung off her shoulders, exposing all the wounds on her back. The stockings and garter belt on her thin legs were very sexy, but the outfit brought out just how malnourished and fragile her body was.  
She nodded and picked at the lacy hem of the skirt before heading for the door.

“Wait, Maka!” Soul grasped her hand and turned her to face him. He felt uneasy, like his stepfather had planned something. “Listen, just… be really careful tonight, okay?”

She nodded again. “Yes Master.”

He rubbed his thumbs across her cold knuckles. “Please, and… just listen to Will and Wes.”

“Yes Master,” she repeated.

Soul sighed. This was like preaching to the choir. She was a slave so of course she was going to do as they said and be very careful in the face of guests and say ‘Yes Master’ to everything he said. “Alright,” he said softly. “Let’s head downstairs.”

A few of Will’s friends had already arrived and Blair was serving them hors d'oeuvres on a silver tray. She looked really lovely and Soul had a momentary lapse in judgment as he wondered why exactly he had given her up. Then, she looked at him mournfully with her dead golden eyes and it all came back to him. Soul put his hand to the small of Maka’s back and guided her into the kitchen where Tsubaki was working her way through the cooking for the night’s events. She was also wearing a maid’s uniform and her body was so beautiful.

“Hey Tsubaki,” Soul said kindly because the kitchen was empty.

She smiled at him, glanced over her shoulder, and then said, “Hello Soul.”

“What can Maka do to help you out?” he asked.

Tsubaki handed Maka a cool silver tray full of little finger sandwiches. “Just go serve with Blair,” she said. “I have everything under control here.”

Maka nodded and ducked out of the kitchen. Soul remained with Tsubaki a moment longer, chewing his lower lip.

“Is something wrong, Soul?” Tsubaki asked him.

He nodded and then shook his head. “No, I don’t know,” he said softly. “It’s just… I have a bad feeling.” His hand strayed to the scar on his chest, tightened in the fabric of his suit, and he didn’t even notice until Tsubaki gently put her hand over his.

“Soul? Is it… hurting?” she asked him gently.

He lowered his hand. “No. I’m okay. I’m just… worried about tonight.”

“Everything will be okay,” Tsubaki said with a small smile. “Have faith.”

Soul nodded, put his hands in his pockets, and ducked out of the kitchen. Will’s adult friends and a few clients had bombarded Blair, laughing and smiling. Wes’s younger friends weren’t paying her as much attention—Wes had probably told them that they could fuck Blair after the party. The poor girl… Soul wished there was something he could do. Those old men were all pawing at her. Even as he watched, one of them pinched her ass and she yelped, nearly dropping the tray. 

Maka shuffled from one person to the next, politely offering the finger sandwiches Tsubaki had made, but with Blair in the room, no one was paying much attention to her. Soul was a little bit grateful for that. She had been through enough.

Soul watched her for a moment, but couldn’t particularly bear it. He ducked back into the kitchen and remained there, watching Tsubaki work. She was humming to herself, smiling faintly as she chopped vegetables and sautéed them with butter, oil, and rice. Soul leaned against the wall and the tension slowly began to wash from his shoulders as the warmth and steam of the cooking soaked into him. Tsubaki was right… Everything was going to be okay. 

It was just dinner. What could go wrong?

He should have known better than to tempt fate.

Everything was alright until the party wound down into dinner and everyone was seated at the table with Maka and Blair circling to wait on them hand and foot and Tsubaki bringing out the dishes of food with a wide smile on her face. She enjoyed cooking and always did a fantastic job. Soul hadn’t yet tasted one thing that Tsubaki made that he didn’t like. He slid her a small smile as she set down a fantastic turkey in the center of the table between the candied yams, fried rice, and other assorted goodies she had prepared for the party.

Tsubaki bowed out without returning Soul’s smile. He understood why. If Will caught her acting like she was human, he would beat her black and green. Soul wished he could resist smiling at Tsubaki since she was the kind of person who would immediately smile back. He was just making it harder on her.

Will stood up and began to cut the turkey, dishing out meat to everyone’s plates across the table. “White meat? Dark meat?” Will asked the chattering table. “How about a leg, Wes?”

“I’ll take white meat, Will,” Wes said with a grin and slapped Blair’s ass as she passed his chair.

The young woman yelped in surprise, but maintained her hold on the tray she was carrying. She quickly slithered out of his arm’s reach, but was apprehended by one of Will’s barrel-chested bull-necked friends. He grasped Blair’s body and pulled her into his lap.

“God, this bitch is a fox,” the man holding Blair said. “Where did you find her, Will?”

Will glanced at his friend. “I got her at the warehouse. She was originally Soul’s birthday present, but he didn’t like her.”

“Didn’t like her?” the bull-necked man repeated and looked at Soul. “Are you gay, son?”

“No!” Soul protested.

“He’s not gay,” Will seconded. “He picked out his own slave. That’s her.” He tipped his chin at Maka.

“He’d rather have that flat-chested little girl than this babe?” the man asked, gripping Blair’s substantial breasts through her uniform.

She whimpered, struggling against his hold.

Aurora put her hand on Will’s shoulder and cut her eyes to Blair.

“Come on, man,” Will said to his buddy. “Not at the table. You’re upsetting the missus.”

“Sorry,” the man said and released Blair.

She stumbled away, clutching the tray like a lifeline. The little hors d'oeuvres bounced all over the tray as she trembled and shook. Protectively, Soul waved her over and spent a long moment choosing a treat so she would have time to pull herself back together safely between himself and his mother. Once she stopped shaking, he picked a snack and let her continue fussing over the remainder of the table. At least no one was bothering Maka… yet.

Will sat down and dug into the turkey on his plate. Aurora pushed her food around her plate, feeling guilty about how Blair was being treated and how she had snapped at her sweet Soul earlier. Wes laughed uproariously, obnoxiously with his friends, and gave Blair’s ass a swat each time she passed him. Light lively chatter filled the dining room as everyone ate. It was peaceful, it was fun, it was relaxed. Tsubaki was right—nothing bad was going to happen. Soul sighed and rolled his shoulders, taking a bite of Tsubaki’s sweet candied yams in a state of bliss.

Maka leaned over to pour some wine into one of the men’s glasses and that was when it happened. Soul’s heart leaped up into his throat and choked him, but he didn’t have even a second to interfere or try to help her. It was already too late.

X X X

Ah, an evil cliffhanger. I was due for one. I find that cliffhangers make people review more because they’re desperate to know what’s going to happen next.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	14. The Storm Party: Pt II

I love the way this chapter came out.

X X X

Things seemed to happen in slow motion—as if the events had been recorded on film and slowed down to a terrifying snail’s pace. Several things brought the event into screaming realization.

First, one of Wes’s friends pinched Blair’s ass as she passed him with the tray of snacks. The young woman jolted and the corner of the silver tray knocked into Maka’s elbow as she filled the bull-necked man’s wine glass with smooth blood-red liquor. A small yelp escaped Maka’s mouth and she tried to steady the decanter, but it was too late. Wine sloshed over the rim of the glass onto the tablecloth, the man’s white silk sleeve, and soaked into the food on his plate. 

There was a long moment of stunned shock… as Maka stared at what she had done, as Blair guiltily moved out of the reach of everyone who wanted to grab her, as Maka desperately met Soul’s eyes, as Will’s lips pulled into a small smile, as the blood drained from Aurora’s pretty face, as Tsubaki froze in the threshold of the kitchen with a boat of gravy in her hands.

Soul saw it all in slow motion, his heart pounding painfully behind the cage of his ribs. Soul lifted his hand, pressing it to the scar beneath his shirt and wincing as the phantom pain speared through him. It was that bad feeling again—something horrible was going to take place. The word ‘wait’ was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t get it out before something happened. 

It was as if the events were suddenly sped up and he didn’t have a chance.

The bull-necked man leaped to his feet with a scream of rage, grabbing the carving knife from the turkey carcass in one swift movement. His hand slammed into Maka’s small chest and hurled her backwards. She fell, a shriek of fear escaping her mouth at the sight of the knife, the carafe of wine flying from her hand and shattering on the hardwood floor a few feet away. 

“You little bitch!” the man shouted. The veins in his neck were bulging out, spittle was gathering at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes were wild. “Look what you did, you worthless slut!”

Soul was on his feet. “Stop!” 

The bull-necked man slashed at Maka with the knife and she lifted her hands to defend herself. Through her fingers, Soul saw her face. Her expression was stricken in fear but also fantastic relief. She was going to die and she was happy about that. For a moment, Soul eyed the bandage on her forearm and wondered what kind of wound lurked beneath the white dressing. Then, mingling with the wine like a mixed drink, Maka’s blood sprayed in an arc across the man’s face and chest.

A woman screamed—maybe Aurora, maybe Tsubaki, maybe even Blair.

Will was on his feet, his eyes widening.

Soul didn’t even realize what he had planned to do until he had already done it. He was acting on pure animal instinct as he hurled himself at the bull-necked man and sent both of them tumbling to the ground. His hand landed in the mixture of wine and blood, smearing it across the floor. The texture and scent of blood assaulted him and Soul doubled over, abruptly retching. Someone’s warm hands were on his back, rubbing in soft circles, trying to soothe him, but he just couldn’t get a grip on his emotions.

His father’s face… blood… pain… death…

Soul’s body heaved, his stomach rolling. White-hot pain started in the scar on his chest and burned throughout his entire body. His eyes watered, tears streaming down his face as the pain assaulted him, tearing every fiber and molecule of his body apart. Those warm hands were suddenly gone from his body. The bull-necked man sat up beside Soul, concern etched on his face. He reached for Soul, but Soul scrambled away. His bloodied hands slipped and slid on the floor.

“Don’t,” Soul gasped out, breathing heavy.

“Soul,” Aurora said and grasped his shoulders tightly. “Soul, honey, are you alright?”

“Stop!” Will said firmly, his voice cutting through the panic of the ruined party. “Everybody stop! For fuck’s sake, Joe, sit down!”

The bull-necked man, his white silk shirt stained with Maka’s blood and the spilled wine, heaved himself up and sank back into his overturned chair. Maka and Soul were still on the floor. Aurora was rubbing Soul’s back and Maka was cradling her bleeding arm. The blood was soaking through the white bandage and her lips were curved in a faint smile. Soul saw her dig her fingers into the wound.

“Clean up this mess,” Will barked at the three slaves. “Now!” Aurora was coddling to Soul, trying to comfort her son, but Will was beyond that point. He grabbed Soul by his collar and dragged him to his feet, Soul’s body hanging limply from his large hands. “And you, what were you thinking? It’s just a fucking slave. Is it worth the fight?”

Soul wrenched himself away from Will, stumbled, and went down on his knees. His chest was throbbing, the white-hot pain spearing through his scar. He gasped for breath, a whimper of agony escaping his clenched teeth.

“Will! Stop it!” Aurora broke in. “Can’t you see that something is wrong?”

“Oh, something’s wrong with him alright,” Will snorted. “It’s a disgrace.”

Soul couldn’t breathe and desperately pulled off his tie, tossing it down among the blood and wine on the floor. Tsubaki seemed to materialize between Soul, Maka, and the discarded tie at that moment. She grabbed the tie and quickly wrapped Maka’s slashed forearm with it, right over the bloodstained bandage. Then, she ushered Blair and Maka both into the kitchen to get supplies to clean up the mess. 

“Everybody needs to chill,” Wes cut in. He walked through the mess to crouch beside his little brother. “Soul,” he said softly and put his hand on Soul’s back. “Are you okay? Breathe, man.”

Soul continued to gasp and wheeze, the pain exploding bright spots behind his eyes. So Wes, in his infinite concern and wisdom, slapped Soul hard enough on the back to break something. Hacking and in fresh pain, Soul managed to pull himself back together.

“I… I’m okay,” Soul panted out.

Wes offered him a small smile. “Good,” he said. Then, he offered Soul his hand and pulled his little brother to his feet. “Let’s unbutton some buttons, okay? Get you some air,” Wes said and began to unfasten the buttons of Soul’s crimson shirt. It had been a long time since he had seen the scar on Soul’s chest because Soul hid it almost desperately behind a barrier of clothes, almost ten years, since their father’s death… but somehow, the old wound somehow still appeared fresh and angry. “Are you okay?”

Soul seemed to realize that the top of the scar by his shoulder was exposed and pulled the top of his shirt closed, breathing hard. “I’m fine,” he said.

The two brothers turned to face Will, who was waiting with his arms crossed for Soul to recover. Aurora was standing beside her second husband, her face pinched and nervous and her eyes darting like those of a little bird’s. “That was expensive wine, Soul,” Will said sharply.

“It was only an accident,” Soul protested, clutching the fabric of his crimson shirt.

“Slaves don’t get accidents,” Will snapped at him. “Look at this mess.”

“But—”

“I will give you a choice, Soul. Someone has to beat her,” Will said. “You can decide who.”

Soul’s eyes strayed desperately to his mother, but Aurora wasn’t going to intervene. Wes was standing beside him, fidgeting, and Soul quickly went through the people in the room. Who would hurt Maka the least? Wes would probably rape her, Will would rip the flesh off her bones, Aurora wasn’t even an option, and the bull-necked man was still eyeing the fallen knife.

“L-Let me do it,” Soul said finally. His voice was thin and small, trembling.

Aurora’s crimson eyes widened. For her Soul to hurt someone… it was unthinkable. If he did this… something inside of Soul would just… break! Throat tight with panic, she broke in, “No—” 

Will cut her off, his lips curved into a clever and cruel smile. “You actually have to hurt her, Soul. I’ll check her body to be certain you’ve beaten her. You can’t get out of it this time,” he said.

Soul shuddered, clenching his hands into fists. Blood dripped between his fingers and onto the floor into the mess of red wine and Maka’s blood.

Wes’s eyes bulged. Will couldn’t make Soul do this—he just couldn’t! Wes reached for his brother, intending to give him some manner of comfort, but Soul shied away. Since their father’s death, there had been a rift between Soul and the rest of the world, but it had never been so apparent until this moment. “You can’t,” Wes breathed, looking from his beautiful mother to his stepfather’s twisted face.

“Wait, honey—” Aurora interrupted.

“Be quiet,” Will said to her coldly. “Your son needs to learn a lesson about slaves and their place in this world.” 

Soul begged his mother with his eyes, but she closed her mouth and backed away. In that moment, for the first time, he truly hated her. Why wouldn’t she stand up to Will? Stand up for what she thought and knew was right? Why was she such a coward? But in the next breath, he realized he wasn’t going to stand up either. Will was his stepfather and his mother’s new husband. Later that night, Soul would have no choice but to punish and beat Maka. There was no other choice.

X X X

Alright, next chapter, I plan on revealing Maka’s suicide attempt and scars to Soul. That’s the plan, but who knows if it will come through… You never know with me. I’m bad at planning ahead, I’m just really good at covering up my oopsies. Only occasionally does it come through that I had no clue what I was doing. 

Questions, comments, concerns?


	15. Death Between Them

Man, I just thought of a brilliant idea for a long Vampire Knight story, but I can’t deal with having two stories in progress at once… Damn it! It’s killing me.

X X X

With the blood and wine all over the floor, the party moved into the backyard. A few years ago, Will had put in a pool and a garden gazebo to go with the wrap-around porch and the lovingly-tended garden. Now, the backyard was a veritable paradise on earth. Now, with the house a warzone, Will moved the party outside for after-dinner drinks and Tsubaki’s special butterscotch pastries. 

Will was the only one who felt like partying or celebrating anymore. Aurora retired to their bedroom, unable to put up the happy-housewife façade any longer. Wes collected Blair and his friends and herded everyone upstairs to play videogames. Soul felt like a soldier leftover from a terrible war as he dragged himself upstairs to his bedroom with Maka in tow.

Waiting on his bed like a death sentence was a knife and a whip.

Soul chose to ignore them both for a moment and threw his pillow on top of them. Out of sight, out of mind, was the best he could hope for at this moment in time. Later, he would have to do it. 

He ducked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him, leaning heavily on the cool vanity. He turned on the faucet and dunked his head beneath the spray. When his head was as clear as it was going to get, he stepped back and looked at his reflection in the mirror. 

His suit was ruined, stained with blood and wine. His face looked haunted with bruise-like circles and his skin was waxy pale. He looked like… death. 

Soul turned away, breathing hard as the pain speared through the hideous scar on his chest. He tossed the soiled suit jacket into the tub along with his shoes and socks. His trousers and shirt were bloodied, too, but he might as well leave them on for when he had to… beat Maka. He would probably get blood on his clothes anyway.

Soul slid to his knees, sick to his stomach, but managed not to throw up.

Cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck and his skin crawled with the thought of the death in his own face. 

He dragged himself to his feet and emerged from the bathroom to find Maka waiting patiently for him. She was kneeling in the middle of the hardwood floor, her arm wrapped in white bandages and Soul’s black tie. Dried blood and wine were plastered all over her pale skin. Still dressed in the maid’s uniform, she looked as if she belonged in a Halloween haunted house.

He eyed the wound on her arm, blood still slowly dripping through the fabric of his tie. “Let’s take a look at that,” he said softly. “Come into the bathroom.” He got some Band-Aids out of the over-the-counter medicine cabinet and turned to find Maka standing right behind him with her face lowered to hide behind her bangs. 

She looked like a ghost, her hair stringy and tinged red with blood and wine. Death…

Gingerly, Soul gripped her waist and helped her hop up onto the counter. The pulse of her heartbeat beneath her skin was comforting. She was still alive—she wasn’t dead. And he could feel her heartbeat so he wasn’t dead either. They were both alive. 

Then, he unwound the tie from her slashed wrist and then removed the blood-soaked bandages. Beneath both, there were two jagged ugly slashes. One was fresh, left behind by Will’s friend, and still bleeding sluggishly. The other was beginning to heal at the edges, burned raw and red to cauterize the wound. The first slash was going downward, but the second was upwards—self-inflicted.

Soul cradled her wrist between his palms. “Did you… do this to yourself?”

Boldly, she looked into his face. “I want to die.” 

“W-why?” he gasped.

“Because… it’s better to be dead.”

He wanted to pull her to him, to hold her and give her some comfort, but he just couldn’t. Instead, he whispered, “But… it’s never better to be dead. If you’re alive, at least you’re alive.”

She barked a bitter laugh. “No… no, it’s not. So long as I’m alive,” she pressed her fingers into the sluggishly bleeding wound, digging into it. More blood dripped onto the floor, splattering there. “So long as I’m alive, I’ll keep being hurt. Once I’m dead… no one will ever hurt me again.”

“But I—” he cut himself off. Because of Will and what happened at the party, he was going to have to hurt her. Even from himself, he still couldn’t protect her. 

She glowered at him as if knowing what he had been going to say. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered instead and pulled her fingers from the wound. “I really am. I’m sorry…”

She stared at him, her olive eyes hard.

Soul didn’t say anything. He just took a handful of Band-Aids from the box and used them like sutures to hold the edges of the jagged wound closed. He cradled her wrist in his hands, his heart pounding. How could she want to die? How…?

His father’s bloodstained face returned to Soul in a flash and he nearly crumpled to his knees. The pain speared through his scar and fear swallowed up his heart. Death… 

Then, there was a sharp knock on the door. “Soul, you have twenty minutes to punish her,” Will called through the barrier.

A shudder ran through Soul’s body, going into Maka. Together, they stood there, each trembling, but for different reasons. He would have to hurt her and she would have to be hurt for a simple accident. It was the most horrible thing Soul have ever had to do.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to her. He lifted the pillow, staring down at the knife and whip. “I’m so sorry.”

She steeled herself, praying his beating would be enough to kill her. She dug her fingers into the fresh wound on her arm. ‘Please,’ she begged the god that had never listened. ‘Please, let him kill me. Please, let me die. Please, usher me into the arms of the next world.’

But the first strike of the whip fell and the psychopomp was not waiting on the other side of the abyss for her. There was only darkness, deep and lonely, and the distant sound of her master’s mind breaking apart at the seams as he beat her. Even so, she begged for death to come. It was better that way, much better.

X X X

This chapter came out a little shorter than I originally intended, but oh well. I wanted to have everything that happens next all in one chapter. If I had left everything together, then this chapter would have been hell of long! Grah! It’s going to be one of those days… I can just tell… It’s because I have too many ideas.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	16. What He Made Soul Do

Most of this chapter is going to be from everyone else’s point of view. We’ll come back to Soul and Maka.

X X X

Wes’s friends were barricaded in his bedroom with Blair, but—he was embarrassed to say—he couldn’t get it up. He just wasn’t in the mood, even for Blair’s luscious body. Wes stood in the hallway, leaning on the wall across from his little brother’s bedroom, listening to Maka’s muted cries and the harsh loud strikes of the whip.

Will was waiting downstairs, smirking. He knew Soul wouldn’t dare disobey him. If only for Aurora’s sake, both the boys would do whatever Will asked of them. It was a little sick and a little sad, but it was what their lives had become. 

Careful, careful, gentle, gentle… don’t upset Will.

Unable to listen to the sounds of the punishment any longer, Wes drifted downstairs and wandered through the house. 

Tsubaki was in the kitchen, her face pale, but her deep blue eyes occluded with blood from healing blows. She lowered her eyes when she saw him, silent, and Wes realized just how truly different he and Soul were. When Soul came into the same room as Tsubaki and Will wasn’t there, the young slave always smiled softly at Soul. But she cowered in the face of Wes’s arrival.

He leaned against the counter beside her. “Tsubaki?”

“Yes, young master?” she responded, keeping her eyes down.

Wes dipped his fingers under her chin and lifted her eyes to meet his. “Am I a bad person?”

“No, young master,” she said without hesitation, but he felt a tremor run through her body.

“But I’m not like Soul, am I?” he asked her.

She hesitated, her wine-dark eyes darting around the kitchen as if in search of some lurking boogeyman. Then, she shook her head. “No, young master.”

Wes didn’t help her finish doing the dishes as Soul would have. Instead, he left the kitchen and wandered his way back upstairs to check on Soul and Maka. He listened at the door, still hearing the strike of the whip inside, but only a few minutes had passed. Soul would have to beat her for fifteen full minutes.

Wes leaned his head on the cool wall, his eyes closed, and then went to listen at his own door. Inside, he could hear his friends talking and laughing and the creak of the bedsprings as someone had their way with Blair and her beautiful body. She let out small gasps and moans of pain, but was otherwise silent and resigned to her fate.

There was something wrong with all of this, he decided, there really was.

…

Aurora sat on the edge of the bed in her bedroom, her hands folded in her lap, tears running down her pale cheeks. She couldn’t hear the strike of the whip or the young slave’s cries of pain or the sounds of her son’s heart breaking. For that, she was so incredibly grateful.

How could Will do this to her son?

How could Will force Soul to hurt someone?

How could any of this happen?

What had gone wrong in her life?

What had gone wrong with her plan?

For ten years, Wes and Soul’s biological father had been gone. Dante was dead, killed that day along with Soul. He had given his life to protect his youngest son and Soul was still haunted by half-remembered recollections of what had happened. But she just couldn’t get her family out from beneath that shadow of death.

Soul was still suffering from nightmares.

They all still feared death.

They all bowed beneath Will’s power.

Something had to be done, Aurora decided. She couldn’t let her family continue like this. Something had to change. Something had to happen. Sadly, the straw that broke the camel’s back, was Will forcing Soul to beat Maka for a simple accident at a party. After this moment, nothing would be the same.

…

Twenty minutes passed and Will rapped on the door to Soul’s bedroom. Soul pulled the door open and Will would never forget how he looked. There was blood splattered on his pale face, his eyes glimmering with unshed tears, his teeth digging into his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, and he looked purely destroyed. Kneeling on the middle of the floor, her blood fanned around her, was Maka. She was shirtless, her entire back damaged by the lash of the whip. The knife was lying on the floor, unused.

“You didn’t use the knife, Soul,” Will said.

Soul’s crimson eyes widened, stricken. He glanced over his shoulder at the knife. “No… please, don’t…”

“I gave you both for a reason. Either you use it on her or I will,” Will threatened.

A shudder ran through Soul’s body. “Please… don’t make me…”

Will took a step towards Maka.

Soul quickly stepped between them. “No! I will… I’ll…”

“Do it, then,” Will growled. 

Soul picked up the knife, his hands trembling wildly. He knelt at Maka’s side, both of them trembling and whimpering pathetically. 

“Just shove the knife under her fingernail and rip one out, Soul,” Will said. “Then, you can be finished.”

He gently took her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. She was cold, she was trembling, she was afraid, and he didn’t want to hurt her. Desperately, he looked at Will and saw Wes standing in the hall just behind tier stepfather. Wes’s face was pale, his eyes sorrowful, but there was nothing he could do.

Soul slipped the tip of the knife under her fingernail, ignored her little whimper of agony, closed his eyes, and did it. Hot blood dripped into his palm and he tossed the knife, listening to it skid across the hardwood floor. There was dried blood on his face and he felt sick.

Will came into the room, his fingers digging into each strike of the whip Soul had left on Maka’s back and then pressing into her damaged fingertip. “Good job, Soul. You’ve done well,” he said. Then, he savagely kicked Maka in the back and sent her sprawling, a cry tearing from her mouth. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson, slave.”

She nodded, whimpering in agony.

Soul stared at Will, his face pale and stricken. 

“Have her clean up this mess,” Will said to Soul. “Then you can rejoin the party, son.” Without another word, he turned and left the room. 

Wes remained in the threshold a moment longer. “Soul, is there anything I can do?” he asked his little brother.

Soul shook his head. “Just… go away,” was all he said. His voice was mournful and broken, trembling slightly.

Aurora joined Wes in the hallway, peering into Soul’s bloodstained room. She felt sick at heart for her son. Soul would never hurt someone and now… there was blood and pain everywhere. “Oh baby,” she whispered. “Please, let me help you.”

“No!” Soul shouted at them. He was like an animal backed into a corner, lashing out. After all, the cornered rat would dare to bite the cat. “Just go away!”

Tears welled in Aurora’s strawberry eyes and Wes gingerly led his mother away. He returned only to close Soul’s door and then returned to his own bedroom. His friends had finished with Blair and he wanted to get them home. He wanted them out of his house and out of his slave’s poor body.

Blair was kneeling in the middle of his bed when he returned from ushering them out. Her pale flesh was marked with hickeys and bruises in the shape of hands. Her hair was matted, her body was so thin, and she looked as if she was ready to die. Wes drew her a bath, had Tsubaki make her a sandwich, some soup, and a cup of green tea, and directed Blair to take a long bath and enjoy her food. She stared at him, her golden eyes dark, as if she had never heard those words before. 

Wes encouraged her wordlessly by wrapping his arm around her bare shoulders, guiding her naked body into the bathroom, and closing the door politely behind her. He listened a moment to the silence on the other side of the door and then heard her step into the water with a grateful sigh. A small smile tugged Wes’s lips and he took a thick terrycloth robe from his closet, hanging it on the doorknob for her when she came out. 

…

Aurora met up with Will in the garden, her teeth on her lower lip. She wanted to snap at him, to yell, to scream, to hit and punch him, to throw things like a child. Her son had been hurt so badly and she had done nothing to stop her new husband from doing it. Like a cowardly puppet on strings, she had just let him do whatever he wanted. That was what her life had become now.

Careful, careful, gentle, gentle… don’t upset Will.

Because… they needed Will to protect them. Ever since Dante’s death… since he had been killed… The Evans needed William Monroe’s protection. 

Aurora almost couldn’t remember why.

“Will,” she said suddenly, her voice ringing out against the distant rose bushes that Tsubaki so lovingly tended. “How could you do that to Soul? You know how he is… how he hates to hurt people… how he hates the sight of… blood…”

“He needs to learn the way the world works, Aurora. You’ve sheltered him for too long.”

“But…”

Will tossed a paper at her feet. “I found this in the trash and I know I didn’t put it there. Did you?”

She picked it up and unfolded it from its crumpled ball. It was a sheet of music in Soul’s handwriting, titled simply ‘Dante.’ Her heart throbbed and her knees went weak. “No,” she breathed. “Tell me that Soul didn’t write this…”

“So it would seem,” Will said. “He’s still obsessed with his father on some level. I know Wes has moved on.”

Aurora ripped the music into shreds and then threw them into the fireplace inside. “What do we do now?”

“Anything we have to. Dante is dead,” Will said and turned to enfold her in his arms. “Soul needs to stop living in the past. He also needs learn that slaves are only slaves. That’s the first lesson in the way the world works.”

“But Will…”

He silenced her with a kiss and then returned into the mansion.

Aurora remained outside in the garden, shivering in the sudden chill. The sky was growing dark with a blanket of clouds, threatening rain. She leaned on the banister, sighing heavily, and then ventured her hands out beneath the cool spry of the rain as it showered off the roof. 

It often felt like she and Will were trying to accomplish two different things.

“Dante,” she whispered to no one but the ghost of the rain. “Why did you leave me? Leave us?”

The rain had no answer for her.

X X X

Ah, look at this. The plot is suddenly very thick, or so I think. My head it caught in three different places. I have a brilliant idea for another story, but… must… not… start another one!

Questions, comments, concerns?


	17. Their Hurts and Some Comforts

It’s my birthday! I’m nineteen! I’m getting old…

This chapter came out a little shorter than I wanted it to, but I’m caught between moments. So I added this little bit with Wes and Blair to make up for the short Soul and Maka bit.

X X X

After her bath, Blair didn’t want to leave the relative safety of the bathroom, but she knew she had to. When Blair came out of the bathroom, she had expected Wes to be waiting for her body while she was warm and clean and naked, but he was sitting on his bed, watching television and he didn’t look aroused in the least. 

“There’s a robe for you,” he said with a small smile.

Eagerly, Blair hid her nudity and then stood there, waiting to see what terrible sex act he had planned for her next. But Wes patted the empty space on the bed beside him and lifted the silver lid on a platter of finger sandwiches and fresh fruits.

“It’s for you,” he said. “Eat up.”

“Thank you, Master.” She sat beside him and tried to disguise her trembling hands as she reached for a small sandwich. Hesitantly, she brought it to her lips, but Wes kept his eyes on the television and didn’t slap the food from her mouth. Relieved, she ate ravenously until the tray was empty. Then, once again, she said, “Thank you, Master.”

“You’re welcome,” he said softly and handed her a pillow. “You should get some sleep.”

She stared at him, her golden eyes wide and stunned. Wasn’t he going to… rape her again?

Wes glanced at her and she looked sharply away.

“I’m sorry,” Wes said suddenly. “I realize what I was doing was wrong. I won’t touch you again unless you want me too.”

She dared meet his eyes. “What if I never want you to?”

Wes reached to touch her face, but she flinched back violently. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “Then, I won’t touch you.”

Blair let out a shaking breath. 

“You should get some sleep. I’m sure you’re tired,” Wes said softly.

She nodded and curled up tightly with the pillow clutched to her chest and her legs drawn up tight. Like that, in the fetal position, she dropped off to sleep fast enough to reveal just how exhausted she really was. Her poor body, Wes thought and gently brushed some purple bruise-colored hair back from her cheek.

…

Soul managed to hold onto his nerves and his mind long enough to clean and dress Maka’s new wounds. But every time he saw what he had done to her, a new bubble of nausea welled up in his chest. The little sounds of pain she was making weren’t helping any either. Finally, though, he finished and wrapped her brutalized body in a thick warm blanket. Almost gratefully, she sank into it, tears welling in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry—”

Her olive eyes went into his, as hard as stone.

It didn’t matter how much he hadn’t want to hurt her. The truth of the matter was that he was coward who wouldn’t stand up for what he believed in. He had beaten her and she was hurt. She didn’t care for his apology and neither did he. If he was really a kind person, he should have done something. He shouldn’t have just gone along with what Will had wanted him to do.

“Oh god…” he choked out, hot nausea welling in the back of his throat. He darted for the bathroom, feeling Maka’s eyes burning into his back, and was abruptly sick.

Maka watched him as he heaved out the contents of his stomach. She had been a slave her entire life and not once had a master become sick after beating her. Normally, they were relaxed and happy when they finished with her and often went to sleep while she bled all over the floor. 

This new master… he was so strange.

He had beaten her badly, but then he had taken his time bandaging and cleaning all her wounds with salve. And now, he was in the bathroom sick to his stomach. It just didn’t even make any sense. He was a master—he was supposed to beat her, he was supposed to enjoy beating her, he was supposed to… he wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Inches away, the knife was lying on the floor. It was stained with her blood and now was her chance. If she could take hold of that knife, then maybe… just maybe, she could slit her own throat and manage to die. The psychopomp would be waiting to guide her on the other side. 

She eyed the knife, glancing between its bloodstained shining surface and her master’s exposed back. Or maybe… she could kill him and then escape. The sudden rain would cover her tracks and she could probably manage to pull off and escape. If there was a chance she would be found and caught, she could always take her own life then.

Soul leaned his forehead on the cool porcelain, breathing heavily. His body felt so weak and shivery, the back of his neck bathed in cold sweat. “I know my apology means nothing to you, but I am sorry,” he called to Maka. “I should have done something.” The other day, before he bought Maka, he had heard about people in the city protesting slavery on the news. Maybe, they could join those people. Then, Soul would be able to do as he wished.

He sensed her presence standing behind him, waiting, hesitating.

Maka seemed to be listening to him, so he continued quietly. “I’m not going to be like this anymore. Once you heal a little bit, we’re going to leave this house… together,” he paused, fighting another wave of nausea. 

Of all the things she had been expecting him to say, that had not been it. She glanced from the knife in her hand to his vulnerable back. The sensible part of Maka’s mind was insisting that she kill him and run, but her broken heart was too shocked to move. Did he truly intend to help her? 

“Wouldn’t you like that, Maka?” he asked.

She nodded without even realizing.

Then, Soul flushed the toilet and straightened up. His eyes lit on the knife and a flash of terror went through his face. For a moment, she just stood there and he just sat there, both of them gazing at the knife and waiting to see what the other would do.

Finally, Maka found the courage and pressed the knife against his face. “Is this a trick?”

“No,” he breathed.

She dropped the knife with a clatter and turned away.

“I forgot about the knife,” Soul said to her. “Why didn’t you use it… on yourself?”

She took in a steadying breath. “Deep down, I don’t think anyone really wants to die. If there’s a chance… that you would help me live, I would take it. But… the moment I see things are going down for me again, I won’t hesitate to do it… to die…”

Soul reached for her and gently palmed the wound on her wrist. “Can I confess something to you?”

She glanced at him. “Why do you insist on treating me like a person?”

“Because… you are one,” he murmured.

She shook her head and fingered the collar on her throat. “Slave,” was all she said.

Soul pulled her hand down, rubbing the cold digits between his equally cold palms. It was an exercise in futility, but Maka stared at their hands as if she had never seen such a sight before. “You know,” Soul whispered. “I think you’re braver than me…”

“Why?”

“Because you have the courage to die. I… I’m terrified of dying. I want to live… no matter what.”

She pulled her hand away. “That makes you braver,” she said plainly. “It’s harder to live than to die.”

Silence stretched between them for a long time. Soul could smell the blood on her body, feel the pain under her skin, see the anguish in the line of her shoulders, see the death in the edges of her eyes. He wished he could do something to comfort her, but he had a feeling she would just push him away if he tried.

“Who’s more foolish?” he asked finally. “The fool or the fool who believes in the fool?” (1)

Maka didn’t answer him. She returned her green eyes to the floor and didn’t speak again. Instead, her fingers wandered to the wounds on her arm and Soul found his own hand straying to the scar on his chest. They were so similar, yet so different. Death was the only thing between them, preventing them from being one in the same. That, and that he was a master and she was a slave.

X X X

(1) I’m not sure where I heard this, but it’s definitely interesting to think about, isn’t it? Personally, I think it’s way too many “fools” in the same sentence.

Questions, comments, concerns?

Review!


	18. Between Pain and Sanctuary

Man, I have had the craziest couple of days… Jeez. Here’s the highlight of my crazy week: I work as a server at a retirement home and we… ran… out of… FOOD! You can imagine how well that went over with everyone. Leave lots of reviews to make my day better… please.

X X X

Night seemed to come swiftly after that. The rain was pattering gently on the window, a cool breeze fanning the trees, and thunder rumbling softly in the distance. The storm was far away and only getting farther from the house. Tomorrow, the roses would be nicely dewed and there would be mud, but the world would have that freshly-washed rain scent. It would be worth it.

Soul was going through the clothes in his dresser silently while Maka slept on her air-mattress in the corner. She had fallen asleep so fast… She must have been purely exhausted. Soul was tired too, but he couldn’t bear to sleep. Even though he had showered and changed, he could still smell Maka’s blood on his skin. If he slept now… he would have nothing but nightmares.

So he stayed up and thought about what he would pack when he left. It would be painful to leave his records and phonograph and piano, his beloved music, but he couldn’t stay here any longer. His home wasn’t a home anymore. It had become a hellish tormented place, trapped under Will’s thumb.

But finally, Soul had to admit that he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. The stress and horror at being forced to beat Maka for a simple accident had weighed heavy on his soul. He was exhausted. It felt like it took effort for his heart to pump blood through his veins. 

Soul glanced at Maka to be sure she was sleeping, slipped a record into the phonograph, changed into his pajamas, and burrowed into the covers of his bed. The music flowed and surrounded the dark room, wrapping Soul in a comforting embrace. The world around him was womb-like and it wasn’t long before he nodded off to sleep.

The dream… the nightmare.

It was waiting for him.

He could never remember how he had gotten where he was. The memory of how it began was foggy, hazy, distant, and hard to understand. All he knew was the cage—he was trapped inside it and it was too small for his body even though he was only seven years old. He was crying, the air filled with the scent of blood and tears. 

Then, there was a horrible crash, the air was clouded with plaster-dust and rubble, and the growl of an engine. Someone was throwing open the doors to the cage and his father was leaning in. “It’s alright, Soul. It’s alright,” Dante said to him gently. “Come here. It’s alright.”

“Daddy,” he whispered. 

Then, he was wrapped in the safety of warm strong arms and carried away from the cage and this place. The car labored out from beneath the ruined wall—Dante having smashed his way into that terrible place to save his young son. But they made it and the night was passing quickly by the window. He sat there, young and small, the fear leaving him as he sat in his father’s comforting presence. He was just about to turn his head, to smile at his father and then sleep, when it happened.

It was a blur, but unmistakable—a car crash.

Dante’s bloody face was above him, hot blood dripping on the boy’s upturned face. He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand any of it… the cage, or the crash, or his father’s words as he died. Then, darkness crept in at the edges and phantom pain speared through his chest. It was as if he was being gutted like a fish, tearing, agonizing, horrible. The cold breath of death touched his heart in a vice grip. Whatever it was… it was killing him!

With a muted scream, Soul woke with a start, panting for breath. Cold sweat covered his skin and he felt nauseous. The pain was still racing through his chest, but he fought the urge to lift his hand to the old wound. The record was still playing and it was dark outside the window. He hadn’t been asleep long, maybe an hour or so. 

Maka was sitting up on the air-mattress beside him. Her green eyes glowed in the dark. Without a word, she lay back down with her back to him. She didn’t ask what had woken him and he didn’t volunteer to tell her. For that, he was grateful and tried to sleep again. 

The nightmare was still waiting, patient as ever, almost like a living thing.

…

The next morning, Soul left Maka in his room to rest her wounded body. Alone, he came downstairs to get breakfast for both of them. He had been intending to just get some cereal and head back up. He wasn’t in the mood to even see his family now—not after what his stepfather had made him do, not after what his mother had allowed, not after the way his brother acted… But Wes was sitting on the couch with Blair, both eating oatmeal with blueberries and watching the news.

Soul stopped in the threshold, frozen by the sight. Blair’s eyes had brightened just a little and her lackluster hair was freshly washed. Had Wes… come to his senses about how he treated these slaves? It certainly seemed that way.

“You don’t have to worry, Soul,” Wes called. “Will had an emergency at work and had to leave.” He glanced over his shoulder at his brother. “It’s safe.”

Soul eyed him. “What’s safe?”

“It’s safe for you to act the way you usually do, I mean,” Wes explained.

Soul came to stand beside the couch. “What changed?” he asked his older brother.

Wes met Soul’s eyes. “I did,” he said softly. “After I saw you, I mean, after I really saw you.”

Silence spread between the brothers.

“STOP THIS!”

The trio jumped, all eyes immediately flying to the television screen. There was a young woman’s face taking up the screen, clearly in the middle of an emotional rant. She was very pretty, her long hair pale brown and her blue eyes lit with fire. She had an anti-slavery button pinned to her red knit-sweater and was carrying a picket sign plastered with the same message. All in all, her expression was incredibly fierce but also somehow hurt and broken.

“This has to stop! Slaves are people too! They don’t deserve to be treated this way!”

The screen panned from the young woman’s enraged face to a swift slideshow of slaves in the worst possible condition, some of them even dead. Their bodies torn to shreds, their genitals damaged, their eyes dead and swollen, tortured wholly and completely, starved to the point of skeleton-thinness, blood, pain, hurt, death… Blair shuddered, her spoon rattling against her teeth as she ate, and Wes put a gentle hand on her shoulder. When she shied away, he removed his hand.

“This is why I call to everyone to stand together now and put a stop to the slave trade!”

The fierce young woman finished her protest and then the message to stop slavery splattered across the screen like blood. There was a burst of loud jagged white noise and then the screen faded out to black and the pretty young news anchors returned. A young woman with dark hair and a distinguished young man with glasses appeared, each looking as if they had different feelings about the protesting add that had just been run. 

The young woman cleared her throat and shuffled her note cards. “And that is the face of the new anti-slavery movement, Elizabeth Thompson. She’s really getting a lot of people worked up with this new add, isn’t she, Craig?”

“Why yes, she has, Allison,” the young man responded, smiling to show perfectly white square cow-like teeth. “But there are always mixed messages with an event like this. It’s incredible the amount of support she’s managed to gather. Never before have we seen such a rally.”

“Word is that she’s so adamant because she lost her younger sister to the slave trade and will now do whatever she can to stop it,” the young woman said.

“As good a reason as any, if I may say so,” the bespectacled youth continued. “But a lot of people are speaking out against something that has become such an important part of our economy. Think about this—if not for the slave trade, what would we do?”

“More on this topic at six. Now, we’ll turn your attention to Joseph for a look at Sports,” the young woman said. “Joe?”

Wes shut off the television. “Well, that was something wasn’t it?”

Soul’s eyes were fixed on the dark screen. “Yes, yes, it was.”

…

Soul was about to turn in for the night and was walking past the front door on his way back to bed when he noticed something being slipped under the door. After receiving the unnerving blank message, Soul acted quickly. He yanked the door open and shouted out, “Who’s there?”

He spotted a retreating figure for just a moment, but then the person had dissolved into shadows and was completely gone. The night was still and silent. There was no sound of a motor catching or any other sign that anyone had ever been there at all.

Soul closed the door with a shiver and picked up the letter. As before, the envelope bore no return address and was only marked with his name. He opened it and pulled out the letter inside. It wasn’t blank, but the words were equally strange as a blank message. 

‘Do you require sanctuary?’

Then, there was an address.

X X X

Hmm, what’s with the mysterious messages? And who’s dropping them off? And what’s Soul going to do now? Lots of questions, but look! Liz has shown up!

Questions, comments, concerns?

Bad week… Review…


	19. The Departure of Soul Evans

And cue Three Days Grace’s song, “Home.” It really fits this chapter. ‘Home. Home. This house is not a… home!’ That’s how I feel about it at least.

Anyway, transitional filler. This means I’m actually right on my timeline. I wanted Soul to be out of the house by chapter twenty and it’s going to line up perfectly! I think that’s the first time something has worked out perfectly for me! Then again… I’m not even going to tell you how many things happened that I didn’t intend to happen or came out way differently from how I planned them… Oh well.

X X X

For nearly a week, Soul pretended that nothing was wrong. He pretended that he was happy and that he knew Maka and Tsubaki were only slaves to Will’s face. He hugged his mother often, feeling her body like a doll’s against his own. The nights were quiet since Wes had stopped raping Blair, but Soul still woke with nightmares of his father’s bloodied face. Maka healed and put on the little weight, Soul was kind to Tsubaki every chance he got, and he watched life slowly form in Blair’s golden eyes. Things went as smoothly as could be expected.

Then, on the seventh day, Soul and Maka were both just… gone.

Wes was the one who discovered his little brother’s sudden departure. He was going to take Blair outside for a walk in the garden and wanted to talk to Soul. Even actively trying to be kind to Blair, it was difficult and he wanted Soul’s advice. But no one answered his knocks on the door. That was strange… Soul was always in his room at this time of day, listening to their dead father’s favorite jazz record. 

“Soul?” he called, knocking again.

Behind him, Blair shuffled her feet.

Wes opened the door. “Soul, I’m coming… in?” 

The room was deserted, a few garments of clothing thrown on the bed and heaped on the floor. The heavy down blanket on Soul’s bed was missing, his car keys gone from the dresser, and his toothbrush wasn’t in the bathroom. It was as Wes feared. Lying on the desk where Soul usually composed music was a note in Soul’s handwriting. Quickly, Wes read it, his heart pounding in his chest like a jackhammer and his throat as dry as a desert.

‘Mother, Will, and Wes,

‘I am sorry, but I can’t live like this anymore. Maka and I are leaving. I’ve taken my car and the money from my bank account and I know I’ll be alright. If something does go wrong and I find myself unable to survive, I promise to return home. If such a time ever comes, I hope you will forgive me for this. But now, I ask you not to look for me. This is what I want.

‘Your loving son,

‘Soul.’

That was it. That was all he wrote to resign himself from his family. It was achingly simple, but conveyed the part of Soul that had been broken apart when Will had forced him to beat Maka for spilling the wine. Rage bubbled up in Wes’s chest. If Will hadn’t done that, then Soul would still be here!

Gripping the note in his fist, Wes charged downstairs with Blair on his heels.

Aurora and Will were sitting on the couch, smiling and talking. Aurora’s eyes crinkled up and she laughed beautifully. Soul’s leaving… it would shatter her perfect world. As much as Wes hated to ruin his mother’s home, he had to say something to Will. Soul was gone because of what he had forced him to do. If Will had just let Soul be Soul, be kind, be gentle, then he would still be here.

“Look what you’ve done!” Wes snapped at Will and threw the note down in Will’s lap.

For a moment, his stepfather glared at him fiercely and then turned his attention to the note. Aurora read it as well, her strawberry eyes filling with tears.

“What?” the beautiful albino woman whispered. “My Soul is… gone?”

Will crumpled the note in his fist and threw it in the garbage. “He’s spoiled. When he realizes what the world is like, he’ll come crawling back.”

“How could you say that?” Wes demanded, shouting at his stepfather.

“Wes,” Aurora gasped.

“Soul might not be your son, but he’s my brother! How could you just dismiss his leaving like it’s nothing?”

“It is nothing,” Will growled. “He’s like a child running away from home. He’ll come back, right, Aurora?”

“Mom,” Wes said insistently, pleadingly.

She wouldn’t even meet her oldest son’s eyes. “Will is…” she whispered. “He’s right…”

“What?” Wes breathed out, his throat clenching. “What?”

“When Soul learns, he’ll come back,” Aurora whispered. “Once, when you were both little you ran away together, but you came back an hour later. Don’t you remember?”

Wes stared at his mother, aghast. 

Soul wasn’t a child. This wasn’t a petty run-away-from-home-and-join-the-circus thing. Soul wasn’t going to come back in an hour, head hung and feet dragging, begging to be taken back in. Soul had been impossibly hurt, torn apart, by what he had done to Maka. He was leaving home because it wasn’t home for him anymore. This was… more important than Aurora’s new husband. This was about her son, her son who had been hurt by his own stepfather. This was not time for Aurora to hide her face and cower. Now, of all times, she should fucking stand up for her family.

“Mom,” Wes said.

“I agree with your father. Soul will come back… once he learns…”

Wes narrowed his red eyes at her, his fingers clenching into fists. “Aurora,” he said bitterly, speaking her name. 

She stared up at him tragically, her eyes like glass and her face a carved porcelain doll’s. She looked so weak and so useless, but Soul was her son!

“I hate you,” Wes hissed between his teeth and grabbed Soul’s note from the garbage where Will had tossed it. “And he is not my father.”

As if she had been slapped, crystalline tears welled up in Aurora’s eyes, but there was something about her expression. She looked like an actress playing a part, crying with fake tears.

Wes turned to leave, grabbing Blair’s hand and pulling her after him, and he heard Will say to Aurora, “Don’t worry. They’ll come around.”

“No,” Wes whispered bitterly. “We won’t.”

Something in the Monroe née Evans house had broken apart and changed since the night of the party. It was uncertain if anything would ever repair it back into working conditions. Will, someone the boys had once respected, was nothing more than a heartless man who cared nothing for the suffering of others. Aurora, their beloved beautiful mother, was nothing more than his pretty puppet on his silver strings. This house… it was not a home.

…

Night had fallen outside the window, darkness broken only by the distant crescent moon. Tsubaki’s tears dripped into the sink as she washed the dinner dishes, alone in the kitchen. She couldn’t believe it. Soul was… gone from the house. She was alone in this den of vipers, but she understood why he had left her behind and only taken Maka. 

If he left with Maka, Will dubbed it a tempter-tantrum and didn’t care.

If he had taken Tsubaki with him, Will would have gone after Soul with the fury of Hell.

Alone, they were safe from Will’s wrath. Tsubaki sniffled and wiped her face with the back of her hand. Her eyes felt like hot coals, burning and throbbing, the fact that her left eye was swollen and blackened probably didn’t help matters either. She sniffed, trying to stop crying. But she just couldn’t. Soul might have been safe alone, but she was now on the edge of a canyon where the simplest breeze could blow her into the abyss. 

If Soul wasn’t here… who was going to protect her?

Certainly not Wes, who was just learning to be kind to Blair.

Certainly not Aurora, who wouldn’t protect her own son.

And certainly not Will, who got his kicks from hitting her.

Soul had been the only one who cared if she lived or died, if she slept and ate, if she ever got a hot shower and clean clothes, if she ever heard a kind word or felt a soft touch. Without Soul here, Tsubaki really was a slave. She hadn’t realized what a difference Soul made in her life until he was gone from it. 

She missed him. Another tear ran down her cheek.

Wes came into the kitchen and Tsubaki froze, her heart pounding. But Wes only went to the fridge, pulled out the cold cuts and bread, made two sandwiches, put everything away, and left. Tsubaki’s stomach rumbled, but she tried to ignore it. 

Without Soul here, who knew when her next meal would be…? She would have to get used to being hungry again.

It was harder to ignore the loss of Soul and the way the family was breaking down. Soul had been the black sheep that allowed Will, Wes, and Aurora to be the white flock. But without Soul… someone else had to be the black sheep.

Tsubaki shivered as the cold night breeze blew in through the open window above the kitchen sink.

X X X

I love the family dynamic coming out. It might seem strange to some people, but this is how my mom treated me after my parents got divorced. It didn’t matter what was going on, she just always picked her boyfriend over me. Luckily, she always had nice boyfriends so it wasn’t so bad, but it’s still messed up when your mom acts like that.

And there is a reason Soul didn’t start a collection of slaves and bring Maka, Blair, and Tsubaki all with him to leave. Don’t start with me. I have a plan…

Questions, comments, concerns?


	20. Death City: Pt I

Happy Easter all!

Ugh, I’ve had a crazy day at work. I’m beginning to think I’m also doomed to have it out with my boss because she seems to think all the teenagers working under her are second-class citizens. I hope to iron out my updating schedule, but life is a little too nutty right now.

X X X

The car Soul Evans had been given for his birthday was a deep black-cherry Volkswagen Jetta (1) and he loved his car. It was practical, unlike Wes’s gas-guzzling Mustang with its big snarling engine. The Jetta was silent and unremarkable. No one would remember seeing it, but Soul with his red eyes and white hair was memorable by himself. It was six of one, half a dozen of another, but it made him feel better to at least think the car was incognito.

Maka was sitting in the passenger seat, gazing out the window and fingering the wounds on her wrist. Soul drove silently, lulled by the sound of this wheels turning on the macadam. He was tired and stressed, but he forced himself to concentrate on driving. He wanted to get as far from home as possible just in case they decided to ignore his wishes and came after him. He had left in the dead of night to give them a head start, but was beginning to regret it as he yawned widely.

“I don’t suppose you know how to drive a car?” he asked Maka.

She glanced at him wordlessly and turned her green eyes back out the window.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I didn’t think so.”

In silence, they drove for a while longer. It began to rain, fat large drops splattering on the windshield like tears. Soul wondered if his mother was crying at the loss of him, he wondered if Tsubaki missed him already. He wished he could have taken her with him, but… Will would never have allowed that. He would have caught Soul and he would have beaten all of them. Soul had had to leave Tsubaki behind, even though it killed him. Maybe, he could find a way to come back for her.

“Where are we going?” Maka asked suddenly. Her voice was impossibly soft, as if she hoped to be able to deny ever speaking. 

Soul felt the folded message in his pocket with that strange address on it. He had used the internet to find it and it proved to be just a simple house—only a house. He had thought to go there, but it would be like putting his hand into a hole in the wall. Who knew what he might walk right into, blind? He had no idea who could have been sending him the messages—the blank one and then this one. 

He thought it better to go into the city where Elizabeth Thompson was still rallying support for her anti-slavery movement. Joining her would not be a permanent fix to this, but it would give him a destination at the very least. It would give him time to think and plan his next move. It would give him time to consider what he was doing—leaving his family and home because of a slave.

“I thought we’d go into the city. Elizabeth Thompson is forming a movement. Maybe we can join her. What do you think?”

Maka slid him an inscrutable look and then looked back out the window.

Soul sighed and glanced at her. She had her hand lying on the bandage on her arm, fingers curled in at the wounds like claws. Slowly, making sure she could see him, he reached across the console and put his hand over hers. She stared at his hand for a long moment before lifting her eyes to meet his. A long moment passed between them and he glanced back to the road, unnerved by her solid gaze. Her eyes seemed so strange to him, caught between life and death.

Half-remembered pain, death, and blood assaulted him. 

Soul had never asked Aurora how his father had died and they had never gone to a cemetery to lay flowers on his grave. He shivered, thankful that his hand was on Maka’s so he wasn’t tempted to bring it to the scar on his chest. He didn’t like to touch it, to make people aware that he hid something beneath his clothes. He felt as if… if someone noticed his scar, he would be in danger. But that was a foolish feeling… wasn’t it?

Maka returned her gaze out the window at the passing scenery, her fingers clawing lightly at her bare leg. Maybe she thought this was a dream, maybe she wanted to try to wake up. Or maybe, she was reassuring herself that it wasn’t a dream. Soul would never know—even if he asked her, he had a feeling she wouldn’t tell him the truth.

Outside the car, the day was clear and bright blue. The tires turned endlessly on the pavement, humming, kicking up small stones occasionally. The car felt safe, womblike, but that meant the world outside the car seemed like dangerous territory. 

…

Elizabeth Thompson had a love-hate relationship with Death City. On the one hand, it was the place her mother—the most beautiful whore in the city—had abandoned her and her little sister as children. On the other, these streets were home to her, even if she had no idea where her sister was now or if she was even alive anymore.

Sighing, Liz twirled a pencil through her long butter-colored hair and then tucked it behind her ear. The page in front of her seemed rather small, scribbled with the signatures of the people who supported her movement against slavery. She had to submit the list, had to actually make it seem like her organization was powerful enough to actually threaten the slave trade, had to do more. It always felt that way… if she just did a little bit more…

“Patti,” she whispered to herself and the name brought up a swell of bitter-sweetness. “Where are you?”

“Liz? Are you talking to yourself?” a young man’s voice rang out from behind her, startling her out of her thoughts. “That’s not a good sign.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, turning to face him. “All geniuses talk to themselves.”

He barked a laugh. “Right, sure they do.” Death the Kid was the mayor’s son and a monumental pain in the ass. He came to her rallies to make sure she wasn’t being obnoxious or causing problems and to keep her in line, but more often than not, he just heckled her. Liz would love to go a week without seeing his smug handsome face.

“It’s because everyone else is too stupid for us to talk to!” she snapped at him, already irritated. He always seemed to bring that out in her, even if they were only together for a few minutes. She had more bitter words to throw at him, but froze, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

Kid’s expression was soft, not smug at all, and he had picket sign tucked under his arm the read in bright red perfectly-aligned letters ‘Stop Slavery!’ Standing just behind him was a young man who still wore the collar of a slave, his body hideously decorated with the trademark scars on his tanned skin, and both were looking at her with something akin to hope in their eyes. This was the last thing Liz had expected from her pain-in-the-ass heckler Death the Kid. Was he… asking for permission to join her?

“W-w-w-w—?” was all Liz managed to sputter out.

Kid grinned as if able to read her mind.

She scowled at him. “Well—” she began, but her voice was still a shockingly high-pitched whine. She cleared her throat, wanting nothing more than to slap that smug little grin off Kid’s pale face, and tried again. “Well, what do you want, Kid?” There, that sounded much better. 

Kid wiped the smirk off his face and set down his picket sign, leaning on it lightly. “Do you really have to ask, Liz?”

She pulled the pencil out of her hair and chewed the end of it. “Yes, I do!”

Kid sighed and then said softly, “This is BlackStar. He was my best friend growing up. Then one day, he was just gone. His whole family was gone and my father told me they moved. Yesterday, I found BlackStar in the market. He didn’t move—slave traders took him and his family away.”

Liz’s heart constricted with pain. Just like Patti had been taken… “Oh,” she whispered softly. 

“So, will you help us?” he asked her.

She nodded, unable to speak for the tears built up in the back of her throat. 

“Thank you, Liz,” Kid said.

She pulled herself together, handed him the sheet and the pencil from her hair. “Here, sign the sheet and then go… just go line up with the others.”

Kid nodded, took the paper, and signed both their names on the sheet. Then, he passed it back to Liz—well, the addition of the mayor’s son certainly made her rally seem a little stronger. “Also,” he said suddenly, “Can you get this collar off him? It’s got some kind of lock on it and I don’t have a key.”

“Of course, I can pick a lock like nobody’s business,” she said. “I’ll get to it a little later, okay?”

“That’s fine.”

Liz watched Kid and BlackStar walk away, her mind reeling. “Patti,” she whispered again. “Someday, I swear I’ll find you, just… please be alive for me…” Then, she put a strong fierce expression on her face, pushed the pencil back into her hair, and headed into the disorganized clutter of her anti-slavery rally.

…

Wes watched television while Blair was in the shower. She emerged from the bathroom in a waft of warmly-scented steam, looking so beautiful with her skin and hair glowing with health. She still only wore a silk robe, naked beneath it, but she didn’t seem to mind. But Wes did. He was starting to live by a new life’s motto—‘WWSD? what would Soul do?’ So he stared at Blair and asked himself that.

What would Soul do?

Well, Soul would give her some clothes, even if they didn’t quite fit her and even if he didn’t have any panties. Anything was better than a robe. So, Wes crossed to his dresser and rifled through it, feeling Blair’s eyes on his back, curious. He found a heavy sweatshirt, some boxers with an elastic waistband, and some thick socks that would probably fit her. That would be as good as if got unless he went shopping.

“Here,” Wes said and handed her the clothes. “You can wear these.”

She clutched the clothing to her chest, eyes darting. “Really, Master?”

“Yes, really,” he said.

She glanced at him again and then stripped off the robe. Naked, Wes actually looked at her body—actually looked at her with eyes unclouded by lust or arousal. She was a beautiful woman with her full breasts, thin waist, long legs, and wide child-bearing hips, but… there were marks of abuse and pain all over her skin. Some, Wes hated to admit, were left by him—by his teeth and mouth and hands. Others were old scars and bruises that were yellow in the final stage of healing. To think he had once enjoyed hurting her.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Blair froze in the act of pulling the sweatshirt over her head. Her breasts hung, quivering, nipples standing out with cold. 

Wes stared at her, wondering why her face was suddenly so pale and fearful. “What?” he asked.

“W-Why are you sorry?” she whispered.

Uncomprehending, he stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“What are you going to do to me that you are sorry for?” she asked softly, adding, “Master?”

Wes sighed and pulled the sweatshirt down over her breasts when she didn’t make a move to finish dressing. “I’m sorry that… I hurt you.”

Silently, she gazed at him, running her hands over the sweatshirt slowly, as if she thought it was a mirage that might evaporate if she didn’t keep touching it. “You know,” she whispered so softly that he could hardly hear her, “this is the first time I’ve been given clothes to wear that actually… cover me.”

Wes’s mind flashed back to the maid outfit she had been forced to wear to the party, to the ribbons she had been dressed in for Soul’s birthday that hardly even covered her nipples, and then the lingerie he himself had made her wear.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

What would Soul do?

X X X

(1) That’s my car, year 2004, and I love it! But mine is silver and silver cars are really hard to find in the parking lot. I swear, someone moves silver cars so you can’t find them when you come out.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	21. Death City: Pt II

*yawn*

X X X

Soul wasn’t sure exactly what he was expecting when he reached Death City and Elizabeth Thompson’s anti-slavery rally, but it certainly wasn’t what he found when he arrived. If he were to describe it in a few words—organized chaos. There wasn’t much organization within the chaos, but it was clear the leader of the rally was trying for some form of it. 

The young woman he had seen on the news and who he assumed to be Elizabeth Thompson was flitting about in a rather expert yet slap-dash fashion, darting from person to person and trying to put some sort of organization into effect. She was wearing low-slung jeans, worn sneakers, and a white tank top that was splattered with all colors of paint, probably from painting her picket signs. Her dirty blonde hair ran to mid-back and was twisted with several pencils to keep it out of her face. Surprisingly, even as Soul and Maka watched, Liz seemed to pull everyone together. The rally quieted a little and then a uniform chanting of “Shut down slavery!” started up.

Flanking Liz’s back was a young man with dark hair oddly streaking with white and wearing pressed dress-slacks, a black button-down shirt, and carrying a collection of pickets signs. Periodically, Liz whirled around to snap at him with a lot of arm-flailing and shouting, but the young man only smiled softly at her as if enjoying all of this chaos and helter-skelter organization. He looked rather important and it appeared as if he was quite used to the girl’s antics since the yelling and flailing never even phased him.

Just behind the important-looking young man was a youth with wildly-spiked blue hair. His face was battered, fringed with bruises in the final stages of healing—sunflower-yellow and pale blue. A slave collar still hung around his neck, the chains jingling absently. His eyes were dark with pain, searching the people around him for something that only he knew. He, like the black-clad youth before him, was carrying a stack of picket signs.

Soul parked his car, pocketed the keys, and got out. Maka remained seated, her face pale and tragic on the other side of the glass. Soul opened the door for her, reached in, took her hand, and gently urged her out of the car. She staggered a little, her grip tightening on his warm fingers, and her olive eyes quickly scanned the organized chaos of the rally. Soul felt the blood rush out of her fingers and her hand became cold in his.

“You ready?” he asked her.

She glanced up at him and then slammed her eyes to the ground, fingers going to the collar at her throat.

Soul took that as a ‘yes’ and tugged her forward away from the safe realm of the cherry-red car. Feeling out of place and conspicuous with Maka’s small hand clenched so tightly in his own, he made a beeline for Elizabeth Thompson and her two male shadows.

“Um, hi,” Soul began when he reached Liz.

Elizabeth Thompson turned and looked at him, her blue eyes flitting from Soul’s handsome face to Maka’s battered and downturned one. She seemed to immediately understand their situation and smiled warmly at them. “Hi,” she said and tucked some hair behind her ear. “I’m Liz. What brings you here?”

Soul hadn’t even thought about what he was going to say to her when he got here. Should he lie about what had happened? Should he tell her the truth? Should he tell her nothing at all? Should he just let her make her own assumptions? For a moment, he just stared at her, panic on his pale features.

Liz laughed softly. “You’re not as much of an outlaw as you think,” she said to him and spread her arms to encompass the assembled protest. “More people than you would think are against slavery.” The young man behind her cleared his throat as if desiring an introduction, but she ignored him, continuing with a smile. “Here, sign the sheet. If you don’t want to tell me about what happened, you don’t have to.” Then, she handed Soul a clipboard with a sheet of names on it and pulled a pencil from her hair.

Soul accepted both, glancing over some of the names. The last two people to sign the sheet were Death the Kid and BlackStar. He glanced at the two young men behind Liz curiously, earning a smile from the black-clad boy and an equally curious glance from the blue-haired slave. Quickly, he wrote down his and Maka’s names and then handed the sheet back to Liz. 

“My name is Soul,” he said. “Soul Eater…” he hesitated, unable to decide which last name to give her. 

The black-clad youth cleared his throat again. 

Liz sighed, rolled her eyes, and waved her hand at him. “This is Death the Kid, the mayor’s son, and his childhood friend, BlackStar.”

Death the Kid smiled again. “It’s nice to meet you, Soul. And who is this young lady?”

Soul squeezed Maka’s fingers comfortingly. “This is Maka, my… slave…”

“It’s a pleasure to have you both on board,” Liz said cheerfully, threading the pencil back into her hair and tucking the clipboard under her arm. “Why don’t you walk with us and we’ll get you settled in with the other protesters, okay?”

Soul nodded and tugged Maka along beside him, falling into step with BlackStar and Death the Kid. Liz continued her bustling and slap-dashing, handing out picket signs, and directing a few people who looked lost. She was so absorbed by her task that she hardly even noticed Kid’s annoying presence behind her and didn’t notice the silent Soul and Maka at all.

…

Kid glanced at the young man and female slave from the corner of his golden eyes.

The boy was pale, his face troubled and deep dark circles under his eyes, and his right hand kept straying to his chest, tightening in the fabric there. Even Kid could admit that the youth was handsome, but there was something haunted and ghostlike about his waif form. His hair was pure white, his eyes the color of blood, but Kid’s first impression of him was that the young man was sweet and cautious, caring, and willing to come to a rally just to protest slavery.

Beside him, the young slave girl was as thin as a pile of twigs. She looked as if she would bruise if you breathed on her too hard. Her face was like old parchment, pale and cracked, and her ash-blonde hair hung in tangled sheets around her face. She kept her olive-green eyes on the ground, but when she had lifted them for a moment Kid saw an equally haunted expression in her gaze as he had seen in the pale boy’s. Her arm was heavily scarred with at least two thick wounds—slashes, deep and ugly, that told him she had tried to take her own life at least twice.

It looked as if both of them had been through hell and back.

…

BlackStar followed his childhood friend through the anti-slavery rally, still unable to believe his good luck. He could barely remember his old life—the life he had lived with his loving family as Kid’s next door neighbor. Hell, he could barely even remember Kid, but Kid remembered him. 

When Kid had seen him on the auction platform, beaten and naked, chained like an animal, he hadn’t hesitated to buy his old friend. BlackStar still couldn’t believe his good luck. He had never thought in a million years that he would find something this close to an escape from his daily hell.

Now, if only a little more luck would float his way, maybe… maybe he could find his love again. He had never dared to hope for an escape from slavery, but Kid had found him.

So, what harm was there in wishing to once again find Tsubaki?

…

Wes and Blair came downstairs early, finding Tsubaki busily cleaning up the kitchen. She looked thin and haggard, her dark hair lackluster and hanging stringy around her pale bruised face. Her wrists were circled with bruises, as was her face and the side of her shoulder. Aurora had been after Will about Soul and Maka’s leaving, so Will had taken out his anger on Tsubaki rather than his pretty wife.

What would Soul do? Wes asked himself. “Hello Tsubaki,” he said cheerfully. 

She glanced at him, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed. “Hi… Wes…” she whispered.

Wes stood there helplessly. Frankly, he had no idea what Soul would do. He wasn’t Soul and he had never paid much attention to his little brother’s interactions with Will’s slave. He turned to Blair and made a useless gesture to her that he hoped portrayed the message of ‘help her’ or ‘help me.’

Either way, Blair understood him. She went to Tsubaki and gently guided her to sit at the kitchen table, rubbing the other slave’s back and shoulders comfortingly. Then, she drew her a tumbler of warm water and pressed it into her hands. “Here, drink,” she urged.

Wes decided to leave the two girls to it. He had to be careful that Will didn’t catch them being kind to Tsubaki or he could wind up as cast-out as Soul. 

Wes made his way through the living room to the front door and found an envelope lying on the welcome mat. It was blank with no return address and Wes turned it over and over curiously. Finally, he slipped a finger under the flap and opened it. There was a single sheet of paper inside the envelope with nothing on it but a simple address, that was all. Unnerved, Wes stuffed it into his pocket and glanced around outside, but here was no sign of anyone who might have left the message behind.

He ducked back into the house and closed the door hard, nearly slamming it.

X X X

Questions, comments, concerns? 


	22. The Facets of Everyone

**Mr. A:** You should totally get an account so I can reply right to you. It’s easy, all you need is an email address. Do it! Give into peer pressure. Haha! 

The protest has a mild sub-plot purpose. It’ll become clear, fear not! Anyway, BlackStar is kind of stuck being a slave. I can’t have nine million regular people, plus I wanted to back an old back-story love with him and Tsubaki and it would make sense if one of them was a master. I switched up Liz at least. Kid I can’t help but make a master because he has such a leadership quality in my mind. I want him to lead the morons later and squabble with Liz over it. (And I just can’t write his OCD. In the show, I love it and I think he’s hilarious, but in print… eh, it just feels stupid. I’ll make him imperfect some other way, like how he heckles Liz.)

Get an account! Pretty please?

X X X

Night had fallen on Death City and Liz’s rally was winding down for the day. Everyone had departed for home or—if they had travelled just for the rally—gone back to their hotels. Only Liz, Kid, BlackStar, Soul, and Maka remained. Liz was collecting up the leftover picket signs, taking down her posters, gathering up trash, and just cleaning in general. Occasionally, she stopped to squawk at Kid, but other than that they worked in companionable silence. Finally, Soul put the last armload of posters into the back of Liz’s van and they finished. Liz brushed herself off and slammed her trunk shut.

“Well, thanks for the help everybody,” she said, purposefully avoiding Kid’s face. He was such a pain in the ass, heckling her still even now that he was on her side. “We’ll all be back here at eight o’clock. Dress nice in case the news station comes by again. We need more press like that.” She had said the same thing to everyone else as they had left, but went through it one final time to her small remaining group. “Thanks,” she finished.

Kid smiled at her. “So, what now? Do we all go home together?”

Liz gave him a shot in the arm, glaring. “No! Go home with BlackStar, you idiot! And I go home to my house!”

He rubbed his arm. “Solid punch, Liz,” he muttered. Then, he bid them goodnight and led BlackStar off to their own waiting vehicle. 

Soul hesitated, feeling Maka’s body heat against his back. What should he do? He had no place to go with her, no home, nothing. She shuffled behind him awkwardly and then, oddly, her fingers gently pushed at his back in some unspoken gesture. Even so, Soul understood.

“Um, Liz?” he murmured.

She halted as she finished packing up her car and turned to look at him. “What is it?”

Soul stared at her, unable to think of the words to say to explain his situation. Maka’s fingers pressed against his lower back insistently, tightening in the fabric of his shirt. He reached behind his back to grasp her fingers, but she shied away, taking several steps backwards away from him.

“Soul?” Liz asked.

He decided it would be best to just say it. “We don’t… have anywhere to go,” Soul said finally. “I left home because of…”

Liz hushed him. “You know, I have a guest room. You can stay with me for a little while, okay?”

Soul nodded gratefully. “Please,” he said.

She patted his hand. “It’s always nice to find kindness in this world. I’m about ready to go. Get your car and follow me home, alright?”

“Thanks, Liz,” he said.

She smiled softly. “It’s no trouble. When I left home, I wish someone would have taken me in,” she murmured. Soul opened his mouth to speak, but she waved him off. “Just follow me. We’ll have some dinner and you can tell me everything you want to.”

Soul nodded and watched Liz pile herself into her car. He turned to Maka, meeting her olive eyes and reaching for her hand. She shied away, sidestepping, but her heels struck the curb and she nearly fell over. Only Soul’s sudden grasp on her wrist kept her on her feet. She gazed at him, eyes wide with shock, as Soul gently pulled her towards him and held her gently against his side. For a moment, aware that Liz was watching, Maka struggled against him. Soul hushed her, whispering, and she relaxed in his arms. 

Her new master was so warm, his body lean and strong, and his touch was so gentle. Cradled against his side like this, she almost felt… cared for. She felt like more than a slave. For the first time in years, she actually felt… human…

Soul tucked her into the passenger seat and smiled at her gingerly. Maka couldn’t help the soft curving of her lips that answered his expression. Soul’s eyes brightened at the display of emotion and Maka realized her smile. Immediately, she turned her face away and composed her features into a blank mask of slave-like indifference. With a soft sigh, Soul circled the car and climbed behind the wheel. He beeped the horn and waved to Liz and she headed off into Death City.

…

Death the Kid and BlackStar arrived home at the mayor’s mansion in record time. Kid’s father was off at City Hall, working busily on all fronts of polite society. Thankfully, Lord Death didn’t support slavery (which was why he sent his son to check on Li and her rally each day) and the mansion was run by a small army of well-treated slaves. Kid was always happy to come home to their mostly-smiling scarred faces and now, he sensed that BlackStar was just as comforted by the house.

“Kid?” BlackStar asked suddenly.

“What’s up?” Kid asked his long-lost friend.

“Do you think…?” But he broke off and shook his head. “No, never mind.”

Kid stared at him silently for a moment, waiting to see if he would continue, but he didn’t. “BlackStar?”

The slave shook his head, fingering the scars on his wrists from the shackles he had never been able to escape. “It’s nothing.”

Kid let it go. He figured that when BlackStar was ready to talk, he would. After all, they had been close friends before BlackStar had been stolen and enslaved. Hopefully, that friendship had survived the hell BlackStar had suffered through. “Well, how about some dinner? We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow what with Liz’s rally and all.”

BlackStar nodded. “That sounds great. I’m,” he hesitated, “hungry.”

Kid smiled. “Good. Let’s fatten you up,” he said.

…

What would Soul do?

Wes had lied and told Will that he needed his bedroom cleaned. He had lied some more, saying that he had fucked Blair so hard that she couldn’t even walk so he needed Tsubaki to do it for him. Then, with all his lies organized, he put what he thought Soul would have done into motion.

What would Soul do?

Wes knew that Soul used to tell Will the same thing and then let Tsubaki sleep and take a hot shower so he was planning to do the same thing. He ushered Tsubaki into his room, seeing her blue eyes meet Blair’s in a nervous panic, but he guided her into the bathroom where he had drawn her a hot bath and lad out some fresh fruit as a treat. Then, he left the two young slave women alone in his room to rest and chat and recuperate. 

He decided that’s what Soul would have done.

…

A crack of the whip assaulted her back. A ragged cry tore from her chapped lips. Crimson blood splattered on the concrete floor. She was chained to the ceiling by her wrists, her naked body dangling from the hook like a fish waiting to be gutted. The whip struck again, tearing flesh like the skin of a ripe peach and more blood dripped from her. The whip lashed too low, into the backs of her legs, and her knees buckled. Only the hook and chains kept her on her feet, but she wished she could have dropped into oblivion. 

She sobbed raggedly, hiccupping in agony.

“Did you hear about the rally?” one of the men asked in the darkness of the basement. “That Liz Thompson’s anti-slave rally?”

A dim red light came on in a far corner, painting all her spilled blood into a beautiful and terrifying scene. The young slave girl whimpered in agony, choking back blood as the whip lashed her naked skin again. So much pain… There was so much pain… Did it ever end? It certainly didn’t seem to. She was trapped in this place, beaten, beaten, beaten… She was never going to heal. Her body was just a patchwork of scars and fresh wounds. Another cry slipped from her open mouth. 

“I did. Do you think it will cause a problem?” the second man said in the dark, red light spilling over his body.

The crack of the whip halted and she let out a small breath of relief. 

“Doubtful,” the first man said. “Once my son comes to me, everything will fall into place.”

“But I’ve been watching him and he’s gone to join the rally.”

“Don’t worry,” the first man repeated, running his hand over the bloody whip. “Everything will work out.”

Then, he lifted the whip and cracked it across the slave girl’s naked back. Her breasts bounced as the whip cracked into her stomach, sides, ass, and legs. More blood spilled like rich red wine across the concrete floor and another whimper of anguish escaped her bloodied mouth. She slumped into unconsciousness, hanging from her wrists by the chains attached to the ceiling. Even so, the two men did not stop beating her, but she was grateful that she was still unconscious when they began to touch her.

X X X

I’m caught between what I need to reveal to progress the story and what I’m not ready to reveal. Here’s a little tease.

ATTENTION: I’m putting this story on hiatus for about a week. I want to plow through some chapters of Broken Hallelujah. But only for about a week! You’ll all live…

Questions, comments, concerns?


	23. Liz's Apartment

**Mr. A: **I’ve never had any trouble with FanFiction, except with nasty trolls and flamers. It’s an okay site. It seems completely safe. I’ve had more trouble with my YouTube account… But Archive of Our Own is far better.****

 ** **X X X****

 ** **Liz lived in an apartment in downtown Death City. It was a quaint no-nonsense redbrick structure of three stories with an old-fashioned iron fire escape clinging to the side of the building like old ivy. At this time of night, when the sky was the color of India ink and starless, the windows glowed with warm amber lights. The scents of dinner cooking and laundry being washed filled the air. Sounds of televisions, mother and fathers chatting, children laughing, all common household sounds drifted out from behind closed doors.****

****Liz had parked in the small lot beside the building, right next to the dumpster, and ushered Soul and Maka inside. “Stairs or elevator?” she asked them once they were in the lobby and she had collected her mail. “Feeling fat or just tired?”** **

****Soul couldn’t help but smile in return. “I’m thin enough,” he said to her cheekily.** **

****Liz rolled her eyes. “Rub it in, why don’t you?” Then, she punched the elevator button and they rode the creaking hulk to the third floor where her apartment was. She fished the key from her key ring, unlocked the door, and once again ushered them. She dumped her keys, mail, and assorted anti-slavery rally things on the small kitchen table. “Alright, let me give you the not-so-grand tour!”** **

****The apartment was furnished with a rag-tag of mismatched furniture—a red Victorian couch, a hideous mustard-yellow overstuffed armchair, an antique brass trunk as a coffee table, a cheap TV armoire that had been painted with roses and guns, a bookcase that gaze the Leaning Tower a run for its money and was propped up against a metal filing cabinet to keep it from tumbling completely. The bathroom was several shades past ugly, done up in all shades of pale sea-foam green with floral wallpaper. The kitchen was utilitarian, but Liz had added a microwave, a toaster, and a coffee pot to the limited counter space. The fridge was covered in posters, schedules, maps, lists, sticky notes, old photographs, and other miscellaneous papers.** **

****“And this is my guest room. Just make yourselves at home, okay?” she told Soul and Maka.** **

****“Thanks, Liz,” Soul said gratefully and set down his satchel beside the bed. “Do you have an air mattress or anything?”** **

****“I don’t,” she said. “There’s the couch, but it’s bloody uncomfortable. You’d be better off sleeping on the floor. But that yellow armchair is comfy.”** **

****“But…” Soul began.** **

****“It’s hideous, I know,” Liz continued. “But all the most comfortable chairs are. I don’t know why a chair can’t be comfy and stylish.” She shrugged, her shoulders shiny and bare. “I’m jumping in the shower and heading for bed. Like I said, make yourselves at home. Night!” Then, she left them to it.** **

****A moment later, Soul heard water running.** **

****With a sigh, he turned to Maka. She was standing at the window, looking out at the brightly-lit city lights beyond the glass. She gently laid her palm against the glass, her breath fogging a small circle, and she looked so awed that Soul hated to break into her thoughts.** **

****“Maka?”** **

****She jolted slightly, but turned to face him.** **

****“Have you ever seen the city before?” he asked.** **

****She nodded but then shook her head.** **

****He waited for her to explain.** **

****“I saw it… from the inside of a cage,” she said finally. “I didn’t know places where so many people lived could be so beautiful.”** **

****Soul hesitated, but finally said, “There are good things about people, Maka.”** **

****Her fingers went to the scars on her wrist. She slowly turned to face him, her olive eyes going into his blood-colored orbs like a physical touch. For a long moment, she just gazed at him, her hand cupped over the wounds that had nearly ended her life. The silence was unbearable, deafening, but Maka continued to stare at him.** **

****To break it, Soul finally choked out, “Don’t you think?”** **

****She turned away, looking out over the city again.** **

****Soul sighed, letting it go, and began to dig out pajamas for the night. She wasn’t ready to talk to him, wasn’t ready to trust him, hadn’t yet moved beyond the barricade of slave that had chained her soul, but he would give her all the time she needed. He was patient and he was kind, kinder than he even understood at the time. If the apartment hadn’t been so silent, he would have missed her words, but the night was quiet and still and he heard her.** **

****“Yes…” she whispered. “I suppose it is.”** **

****Soul’s heart fluttered.** **

****…** **

****Freshly showered and dressed in cotton shorts and a tank top, Liz lay on her bed with all the materials for the next day’s protest spread around her. She had opened the window and was enjoying the cool evening breeze, tinged with the scent of clean laundry and spaghetti sauce from the next apartment. It was nice to have people in her lonely little apartment, she thought as she chewed absently on the end of her pen. She hadn’t realized how… alone she was without Patti. How long had Patti been gone?** **

****“Damn,” she whispered softly to the still night air.** **

****She heard the water start running through the pipes as either Soul or Maka showered. She rolled over, burying her face into her pillow and breathing deeply. God, she was exhausted… Between organizing the rally, squabbling with Death the Kid, and just living, she was worn down to the bones. She wanted her sister. She wanted slavery to be over. She wanted a lot of things, but so far, none of her dreams had come true. She was like a princess locked away in her lonely tower, waiting for the prince who was lost and too stubborn to ask for directions.** **

****She groaned loudly, biting her lower lip to force back the tears.** **

****Something light settled on her back and was still.** **

****“Soul?” she asked and sat up, but her bedroom was empty.** **

****Lying on the coverlet, having slid off her back, was a folded paper airplane. “How on earth…?” she began, but glanced towards the window. She had been meaning to get a screen for it since she had moved in, but she still hadn’t gotten around to it. She went to the window and looked out, wondering how it had gotten all the way up here. It seemed a lot of effort for a prank or for it to have been an accident, but she wasn’t ready to jump to conclusions. She peered out into the dark, looking down and to the left at the old fire escape.** **

****It appeared deserted.** **

****She put her hands on the window and began to close it. It was then that she spotted movement—someone was lurking on the fire escape!** **

****“Hey!” she shouted. “You! Stop!”** **

****But the humanoid shadow quickly rocketed down the creaking iron steps, leaped to the ground below when it was close enough, and vanished into the darkness of the night. Liz wanted to give chase and beat the bastard to a bloody pulp, but she would never catch him. She slammed the window with a huff.** **

****“Asshole,” she growled.** **

****Often enough, she got death threats and hate mail from people who loved slavery and didn’t want her to abolish it. She was almost used to it, but she had a post office box and no one knew where she lived. This was the first time someone had gone through the effort to track her down. Snorting, she tossed the paper airplane into the trash and turned away. She had enough to worry about as it was. But then, curiosity gnawed at her. She wanted to know what, if anything, was written on the airplane. Giving in after ten minutes, she retrieved and unfolded it.** **

****The message was simple, but she wasn’t sure whether or not to file it away as a threat, hate mail, or… something else entirely. It read only, ‘Do you know who you have in your home?’** **

****Her heart skipped a beat, immediately thinking of Soul and Maka. They seemed like perfectly nice kids, but there was something hunted about them. Even so, she shredded the paper into pieces. Soul didn’t need to see this. And if someone was after him and Maka, well, it had been years since Patti had been stolen and Liz was itching to fight. This time, she would not back down from the challenge someone threatened on the people she loved.** **

****Liz threw up the window. “Come,” she hissed out into the darkness, just in case the person who had thrown the airplane was still out there… somewhere. “Come and get it.”****

 ** **X X X****

 ** **ATTENTION: I might be starting a new story and putting this one on hiatus for a while. You’ve heard of writer’s block? Well, I have chronic ‘writer has too many freaking ideas and can’t keep it under control.’ So be aware, but I’ll let you all know if that happens. I’ll write ON HIATUS in big letters in the summary and post it in the last chapter. Got it?** **

****Questions, comments, concerns?** **

****Review!** **


	24. The Next Days...

I got a little stuck so we were due for a little time skip. I didn’t want everything happening right on top of itself.

X X X

The next day, the rally was a little more organized. Mainly because it wasn’t just Liz trying to get everyone into position. Today, she had Soul, Maka, Kid, and BlackStar to help her out. Between the five of them, the chaos was actually more organized and less chaotic than it had been the day before. Needless to say, Liz was happy with that.

The rally went perfectly. 

As she had hoped, the news station and the press both came to see what she was up to. They interviewed her along with Death the Kid, who sided with Liz’s protests in a wonderfully diplomatic way. It was nice to have someone talking about destroying the slave trade in a less passionate and more factual way. 

Within hours of the broadcast airing, she could only imagine what the rest of the world was thinking. If the mayor’s son had joined her… then the mayor must be backing her up… then, what if this brat really could abolish slavery?

Liz grinned to herself as she worked. Yup, she could just hear the tabloids now.

BlackStar, his shoulders strong and chiseled from years of hard labor, worked politely alongside her. His throat was pale where the collar had been removed, but there were still scars and bruises all over his thin body. Even so, in the week he had been with Kid, he had already put on some weight in his face and hips. 

Kid was putting up picket signs and repainting the few that had faded or been left out. He was whistling while he worked, not at war with himself over what he was doing like most people who joined Liz’s rally. It was hard to go against what other people thought was right. It was even harder to stand up alone, like she had for years. Kid was brave and strong in his own right.

Passing out flyers with a thin smile, Soul had Maka pressed at his back. There was something to be said for him too. Liz could tell he came from a good family, if not a dysfunctional one. She could see how he missed them, but he wouldn’t go back. Something had happened and he was going to fight back, even if it hurt him, even if it hurt his family.

Maka was even thinner than BlackStar and cringed and flinched with the suffering of as someone who had never known true kindness or even a soft touch. Liz had seen the slashes on her wrist, but that girl was still alive. Someone or something was giving her the will to live. It might have been Soul, but that, Liz couldn’t tell.

Liz smiled at the four of them, a stone in her throat. 

It had been a long time since she had been with people she could consider friends. She had been alone, without her sister, for far too long. Though Kid still heckled her constantly and BlackStar was more quiet than not and though she had only known Soul and Maka a day or so, she felt as if they had all been together forever.

“Maybe in another life,” she whispered.

“What?” BlackStar asked.

She flashed him a winning smile, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking we should break for lunch soon. Are you hungry?”

The slave hesitated, his eyes darting momentarily with nervousness. 

“It’s alright,” Liz soothed softly, smiling.

His lips curved slightly in response. “Yes,” he admitted. “Kid and I packed sandwiches and plenty of potato salad.”

“I brought potato chips, too!” Kid called across the rally. “And relish and coleslaw and… Damn, what else did I bring?”

BlackStar crossed to his childhood friend, smiling, and helped Kid begin to unload all the tightly-packed coolers from the trunk of the car.

“Yum, I’m starved,” Soul put in, joining them. “How about you, Maka?”

Like BlackStar had, she hesitated, but unlike BlackStar, she didn’t find the courage to speak, even after several minutes. Only Soul’s hand on her elbow brought her to the food. Liz had a feeling she would have rather stood there and starved than risk admitting her hunger. Soul smiled at her softly, his gentle fingers stroking her skin softly through her t-shirt. She glanced at him, something lit in her olive eyes, and then she looked sharply away. 

So, they were dysfunctional and a little bit strange, but they were people Liz could call friends.

…

Blair was sleeping soundly, curling up like a kitten on Wes’s unmade bed. Trustingly, she was sleeping sound enough that when he covered her up and tucked a pillow under her head, she didn’t wake. The last time he had tried to even cover her, she had woke with a start, her golden eyes wide with terror. Now, though unspoken, she trusted him at least a little. She trusted him enough to drop her defenses while she slept. And Wes didn’t want to do anything to betray that trust.

He left her in his bed to sleep and headed downstairs, urged on by the scent of bacon. He took a quick peek out the window and saw that Aurora’s car was gone. Will’s though was still in the driveway and a shudder ran down Wes’s spine. He was starting to feel like Soul must have about Will. He thought of his stepfather with dread and a little bit of horror.

Wes knew Tsubaki would be in the kitchen, cooking breakfast and probably beaten and starving. Who knew how long Will had been up and alone with her in the kitchen? Wes paused a moment, thinking about what Soul would do. Well, after Will left, Soul would have treated Tsubaki to a hot shower and some food so Wes would do the same. And now, he would go in and interrupt whatever Will was doing or was planning to do to Tsubaki. 

WWSD? What would Soul do?

With his plan laid out, Wes stepped into the kitchen with a soft smile on his lips. He felt so much better with himself since he had started being kind to Tsubaki and Blair. He didn’t understand how Soul could have been plagued with such terrible nightmares when he was such a good person.

Inside the threshold, he froze.

Will had Tsubaki bent over the stove, fucking her from behind. Her hand was red and horribly burned, cradled against her chest as tears streamed from her eyes. Will had his hand twisted in her long black hair, also burned short in places, and her head yanked back at a horrible angle. When she saw Wes, a small whimper of pain and desperation escaped her mouth. Will slammed her face into the counter, choking off her cries.

For a long stunned moment, Wes could only stare in sick fascination and horror.

Then, with a groan, Will finished with her and pulled out. Blood ran down her thighs, mingling with his spilled seed. The moment he released her hair, she slid into a heap at his feet like a useless ragdoll, still cradling her burned hand to her chest. Sobbing, she curled in on herself. Will grabbed her hair again and yanked her mouth up to his flaccid member.

“Clean me up, bitch,” Will snarled.

Tears streamed down her pale bruised cheeks, but she opened her mouth and did as he demanded. Will choked her with his cock and then put himself away once she had finished. As before, Tsubaki slumped into a heap, curled around herself desperately, sobbing her heart out. Her burned hand was bleeding slowly.

Wes was still frozen, horrified. 

The bacon began to burn.

Without a care for Tsubaki, Will turned off the burner and passed Wes. He clapped his stepson on the shoulder, grinning like a wolf. “She’s all yours,” was all Will had to say. Then, with a light chuckle, he left the kitchen, Tsubaki, and Wes alone.

WWSD? What would Soul do?

Wes rushed to Tsubaki’s side, gently cradling her in his arms and being mindful of her burned hand. Her face was beaten as well, her lips cut, and her hair had been burned in places just like her hand. “Tsubaki, Tsubaki,” he whispered, brushing her choppy hair back from her face. “Hey…”

She flinched, even under his soft touch. “Please, don’t…” she begged, her voice cracking with tears.

“Don’t worry,” Wes soothed. “I won’t.”

She sobbed again, brokenly. “It… it hurts…”

“I know, sweetie,” Wes whispered, gingerly touching her cheek. “I know. I’m going to help you.”

Tsubaki looked up at him, her blue eyes glazed and swollen. “Soul…?” she breathed.

Wes started to shake his head, but the slave slipped into unconsciousness. Despite the dire situation, Wes couldn’t help but be a little bit happy. Tsubaki had mistaken him for Soul. That meant he was becoming kind, as kind as Soul had been to Tsubaki. He was happy with that at least. 

…

Bloodied and beaten, the slave girl slumped to the floor of the basement. They had freed her from her chains, but it wasn’t much better than hanging from her wrists. The icy cold of the concrete floor was seeping into her body. She shuddered, teeth chattered, but tried desperately to remain silent. If she made a sound, they would remember her and they would hurt her. She didn’t want to be hurt anymore, she wanted the pain to stop, but she… 

She would never be able to take her own life. 

The slave girl might have been too much of a coward to take her own life, but she was also brave enough to live. She didn’t want to meet the beautiful psychopomp. She wanted to live, but she also wanted her body to become dead to the pain. It was a fine strange line, caught in the paper’s width between heaven and hell. The slave girl shivered again, clenching her teeth to prevent them from chattering. She fingered her wrist, feeling the pulse beneath the thin skin.

She had to live.

She couldn’t die.

Upstairs, she heard her two masters talking. They were talking about the messages, about the son, about the other slave girl, about the rally and the mayor’s son. It seemed they were always talking, scheming, plotting, conniving. Even while they beat and raped her, they talked about it. It was almost as if they were… obsessed with… whatever this was. She was never able to pay enough attention to what they were saying. She was in too much pain and she didn’t care. 

She only cared for herself, for her own life.

She was in too much pain to care about anything or anyone else.

X X X

ATTENTION: This story is being put on HIATUS, but fear not because I assure you that I WILL COME BACK TO IT!!!

Questions, comments, concerns?


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